


Stellar Winds

by outofcertainty



Category: Shadowhunters (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Space, Drama, Fluff, IN SPACE, Intrigue, M/M, Well eventually, cruises and spies and murder attempts and flirting
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-03-31
Updated: 2017-08-10
Packaged: 2018-10-13 05:26:46
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 13
Words: 42,759
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10507191
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/outofcertainty/pseuds/outofcertainty
Summary: Pandemonium is the newest in a long line of luxury space cruises, specifically designed to provide anything its guests can possibly desire while trekking across the most beautiful sights in the galaxy… yet beyond the glamour and the glitz lurk unexpected dangers, sinister plots and dangerous machinations.Alec Lightwood, one of the Institute’s best agents, is sent in to investigate. What awaits him isn’t something he’s been trained to deal with, especially not one Magnus Bane.





	1. Protostellar

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter name reference: the protostellar phase is the least understood phase of stellar evolution. In this phase, the fundamental properties of a star are established; these properties determine the future evolutionary trajectory through the following phases.

In all of human history, there had never been a ship quite like _this_.

It towered above the control towers of the spaceport, a behemoth even amongst giants. The very base of it was so wide one could not see one end standing by the other and would have to walk at least half its length to even attempt to glimpse the edge. The overall size of it was difficult to determine but the need for space was quite evident. Pandemonium did, after all, boast the highest luxury of any ship cruising the galaxy, all brand new and cutting edge tech. It promised to provide anything one’s heart could possibly desire: cafés, restaurants, several pools, fitness studios, appearance and modification salons, and, most impressive of all, a beautiful natural park filled with gorgeous plant life and exotic animals. That was the only structure that could be seen from down below on the spaceport. Every once in a while, a light from the control towers would sweep through the area, reflecting off the crystal dome covering the park.

From the bottom up, the entire structure narrowed steadily in incremental steps and the edges curled into a crescent moon, giving the impression of a shimmering, cascading waterfall or sunlit hill terraces framing a lake at its base. More entertainment awaited in these higher levels: plazas full of high-end boutiques, classical and movie theaters, clubs, library archives and several establishments dedicated to specific leisure activities, the largest being a casino. The floor plans had been changed several times throughout the years, culminating in an incredible feat of both luxury and engineering. The very top of the ship was its narrowest point and from down below one could almost glimpse – aided by their imagination and desires – the balcony of the restaurant that occupied the entire highest floor. Highly exclusive, and as such highly desirable, it had been the talk of the galaxy’s elite for an entire year. Even now they must be gossiping about it, as very little information had been divulged. All the better to preserve its mystique.

Contemplative eyes gazed over the ship. Hands clasped, back straight, still, not a word spoken. Everything was, for the most part, quiet. Pandemonium’s clientele would begin arriving in the next few days, no doubt excited by the prospect of such glamorous, luxurious voyage. They would be, at this very moment, planning on what to wear, gossiping about those who would have the privilege of going on the ship’s inaugural trip and scheming how to get noticed and use such a gathering to increase their social or political influence. The ship was perfectly safe, of course, but to their minds it promised to be an adventure. That is what they believed they were after: adventure, excitement, intrigue, twists and turns and thrills.

Well. It would be a shame to disappoint them. If they yearned for excitement, then excitement they would get. Perhaps it would prove unfortunate that they paid little mind to the old tales from Earth, the ones about wishes and magical creatures. _Be careful what you wish for._

Pandemonium had a name to live up to, after all.

 

* * * * *

 

“Alec, _relax_. And smile, while you’re at it.”

“I _am_ relaxed,” he muttered, barely having enough presence of mind to relax his shoulders and attempt a smile as a passerby threw him an odd look.

There was a nudge at his arm but Alec chose to ignore it, focusing on the people around them. Only some of the guests had arrived thus far and yet, he had already identified at least twenty-three highly prevalent figures in galactic politics. Some of them he knew of from the files back at the Institute, others due to the internal – and external – politics of the Clave and some just by hearsay. Regardless, it was enough to make him twitchy. Having too many important people in the same place was just asking for them to be targeted. It was too great an opportunity to miss even in normal circumstances, nevermind when there was something else afoot. And according to the data obtained by the Institute, the guest list had over _two hundred_ names on it.

“Look, I know you’re not used to this kind of work-“

“I’m _fine_ ,” he stated, firmly, turning to give Jace standing next to him a heavy stare, willing him to drop the subject. Before he had a chance to reply something about his tone not sounding fine, or anything of the sort, Alec turned back to survey the people mingling around while waiting to be scanned and checked off the list.

It was true enough. He was one of the Institute’s best and brightest practically since he joined their training program. His skills were varied and practiced, his track record was spotless. Alec had a wide arsenal of skills at his disposal, including proficiency in several offensive weapons, tracking, infiltration, recovery and field tactics. Being able to accomplish every mission assigned to him, either by using every skill and tool at his disposal or only operating within strict guidelines, was his biggest source of pride. The only type of mission he did not do was _undercover work_. 

That particular type of work required a certain amount of social grace that Alec had never possessed, no matter how much he had tried and practiced. It wasn’t that he was socially incapable – sometimes, in the absence of a higher authority, he had taken over as Head of the Institute, which included briefing and debriefing teams and the ability to coordinate them. He had even acted as a diplomatic agent on several occasions, but always with people who were aware of the Institute at least, if not the Clave itself. He was perfectly capable of dealing with people in the known.

It was normal, mundane people he had trouble dealing with. They might as well be from entirely different species; their motivations and actions made no sense to him whatsoever. Apparently, this had to do with his upbringing in Idris and subsequent training at the Institute but to be quite honest, Alec had never been truly convinced of that. And he understood the people here least of all: what use was it to discuss the latest fashion or trends? What did it matter what the latest gossip from the Inner Rim was? Alec had admitted that he lacked the social finesse necessary for undercover work years ago and the Institute had agreed.

And yet, they had sent him here. That, above all else, was making him wary. Surely, it had to be a serious situation for him to be sent out here and told to mingle with people for an entire _month_. There would be little reprieve for them: Pandemonium might be a huge cruise ship but they had good Intel that stated the security was top of the line. Wherever they were, they would be constantly under surveillance, which meant that besides coming up with creative ways to circumvent the system when they wanted to investigate something, they also could not let their cover drop at any point or risk being found out.

Worst of all, the Institute had given them precious little information about what, exactly, they expected to happen at this cruise. Alec had never heard of such a thing in all his years of training and work. Not even the Clave had been of any help – their own report was incredibly vague so either they had no new information to offer or they weren’t keen on sharing it. Alec didn’t know which option was worse.

He blinked, suddenly refocusing at the sound of heels approaching them.

“And what is my dear brother doing now?”

Isabelle approached them, slow and casual, with her long hair perfectly styled to one side. Two or three glances were sent their way but otherwise they were left well enough alone. Being dressed to the nines didn’t seem to be calling attention to them – in fact, out of the three of them, she seemed to be the one fitting in the most, as usual, even while wearing those ridiculous heels with the slowly spinning rings. Alec didn’t know how she did it, but he found himself grateful for it more often than not these days – and maybe a little proud.

“ _Nothing_ ,” he replied.

“He’s worried,” said Jace at the exact same time, merely shrugging at the glare thrown his way.

Isabelle chuckled and leaned against the railing of the ship, tossing her hair to the other side and leaning back as if enjoying the sunlight. She was the very picture of nonchalant enjoyment, looking every bit the part of a high socialite ready to enjoy a luxury vacation. Only a slight sharpness to her gaze betrayed the fact that she was observing some of the people arriving down below, and you’d have to be familiar with her to even spot it at all.

“Isn’t he always?”

He fought the urge to sigh and leaned against the railing next to her, purely so he’d be able to lower his voice and still be heard. Jace did the same on Izzy’s other side, the two of them facing each other while she looked over her shoulder.

“Are we in or not?”

The amusement in her gaze was more than obvious as she glanced at him and curled a hand around his elbow.

“Don’t you have faith in me?”

He looked away from Jace and the occasional guest making their way past them to look straight at his sister, firm and honest.

“I do. Always.”

A small pause followed his words, her eyes widening ever so slightly. After a moment, she squeezed his elbow and let go, using her now free hand to take three incredibly thin, rectangular pieces of a transparent material out of her sleeve.

“Good, because Isabelle and Alexander Ailanthus and Jonathan Smith have officially checked in for the trip of a lifetime.”

Alec picked up one of the slips and automatically snapped it around his wrist, only bothering to look down as the material locked in place, the circuitry now sitting on the inside of his wrist glowing bright blue for a moment before fading slowly. It remained visible, albeit faintly.

“And now they have our biometrics,” Alec muttered as Jace and Izzy took their time snapping the bands around their own respective wrists. “The names were bad enough.”

“We’re going to be here for a while, brother,” replied Izzy, adjusting the trim of her sleeve as to not cover the circuitry. “We wouldn’t want to slip up, would we?”

His shoulders tensed slightly as Alec pressed his lips together, but he didn’t reply. She had a point. The Institute had insisted on this when they were briefed. It was better to use their real names to minimize the chance of anyone noticing a discrepancy in their backstory or even just the way they interacted with each other. Even more so given that the only person amongst them with undercover experience for any significant amount of time was Isabelle. Jace had done it on occasion, but it didn’t tend to last more than a week and never more than two. Besides, they had never gone on this sort of mission together and as familiar as they were with each other, it would be too easy to slip up at least once.

At least Alexander and Isabelle had been lucky, as their first names were deemed normal enough to go by them. Jace had been stuck with the short end of the stick and needed to go by Jonathan, as his nickname was far too distinctive. The less people who remembered them, the better. Even their backstories and alibis had been carefully crafted to be interesting enough to attract conversation and blend in, but not enough that anyone would bother looking them up after all of this was said and done. Isabelle had handled those personally, so he had no reason to doubt it, but by the Angel, Alec hated undercover work.

“Besides,” Jace added, turning around and grasping the railing with both hands before leaning over a little. “You know these biometrics are temporary. As soon as our work here is done, we’ll ditch them. No one will know.”

“They will if we keep talking about it,” Alec countered, but half-heartedly at best. The mention of the fake biometrics made him want to graze his fingers over the implant on his right rib, but he abstained from the urge, distracting himself by looking at the queue down below.

There were more people approaching now, each one dressed more ridiculously than the next. A couple who were making their way up had dressed in matching outfits that shifted through colors seamlessly, from pink to light blue to purple to black, with the sun on their chest and the moon on their back, each one rotating around them in turn, a glitzing parody of the typical day-night circle on most inhabited planets. The gentlemen currently arguing with the check-in staff was wearing a ridiculous hat that spiraled up, jagged sharp lines of a bronze metal intersecting this way and that, with a hollow sphere on top. Another one further down the line had a shirt with shoulders rising so high that Alec was fairly sure it could be used as a weapon in the event of an emergency.

Izzy had once mentioned ‘fashion statements’ to him. He hadn’t understood what she had meant back then and he understood it even less now, staring at what was – presumably – the height of galactic fashion. If they dressed like this normally, he couldn’t even begin to imagine what they wore to parties. Alec froze, suddenly, still staring. Would _he_ have to wear things like that? They would have to mingle and socialize with the people there, blending in would not be enough.

A chuckle brought his attention back to his sister.

“Don’t worry,” she said, with an amused twinkle in her eyes. “I’m in charge of that. I won’t let you look _too_ ridiculous.”

Alec fought the urge to sigh again and looked over his other shoulder, at the similarly dressed couple disappearing inside the ship proper. Whoever they were, they didn’t look familiar. “Is it that obvious?”

“Yeah,” Jace replied and Alec didn’t have to look at him to know he was grinning. “But only to us.”

“I don’t know why… _I’m_ here,” more people were coming up, they’d have to be careful about what they said now. “You two are much better at dealing with people than I am.”

“Because you’re one of the best,” said Isabelle, simply.

“Maybe. But not at this.”

“It’ll be fine.”

Maybe it was Jace’s reassuring tone or the hand clasping his shoulder, but Alec finally found himself relaxing slightly. He wasn’t happy about this by any means – the mission was too odd and too vague, the risk of getting caught seemed too high, especially since they didn’t even know what they were meant to go up against… but whatever happened, they’d prevail. The three of them had yet to fail a mission when paired together and Alec wasn’t going to let that happen now just because this assignment was out of his comfort zone. Besides, Jace and Izzy had yet to let him down. If there was anyone he’d trust with absolutely anything, it would be them.

“Let’s go unpack,” Isabelle said after a moment of comfortable silence, leaning away from the railing and walking towards the main entrance to the spaceship proper. “And maybe scout the mod stations? I’d love to see what they can do with my hair. I’m thinking highlights.”

Jace laughed and followed her, keeping pace after a few steps. “You’ll look great, you always do. Don’t they have a pool in this place, maybe we could scout that, too.”

“ _You_ just want to attract some attention. Some _attractive_ attention.”

“Who, me?”

Alec rolled his eyes, lips twitching into a small smile as he heard them tease each other on the way to the entrance. It was such a familiar banter, like they were relaxing together after a mission, back at the Institute, not in a ridiculous space cruise about to embark on a month-long undercover mission. It made him feel more at ease, and Alec had the suspicion that that was precisely the point. He looked over at the man still arguing with the staff before leaning away and following his fellow agents, this time remembering to smile at a guest who crossed his path on the way.

The main doorway made him stop for a few seconds, if only because it, too, was ridiculously ostentatious and over the top. It was easily four times bigger than it needed to be and it didn’t have a traditional glass – or even crystal – sliding pane. Instead, there was a flickering purple screen covering the entrance proper, almost like some sort of barrier or portal. It looked pretty, whimsical even, but a trained eye could discern yet another security measure.

Testing the biometrics, he thought. To see if the people checking in truly matched the information the cruise had on their guests.

This, too, made him feel a little wary again, but Alec shook it off. It was only normal that they’d be overly cautious, especially given how big a deal Pandemonium’s first trip was shaping out to be. If it went badly, it could spell disaster for everyone who had invested a single dime into the project, so better safe than sorry. Still… maybe the information that the Institute had provided them was vague because there actually wasn’t much to say and they were merely sent in as a precaution. Maybe Alec was overthinking things – he did apparently have the habit of doing that, as Izzy would point out.

With a bunch of politicians and socialites on board, what was the worst that could happen, especially with this much security around? At worst, someone’s pride would get hurt or someone’s dress would get ruined. The Institute wouldn’t be happy about wasting so much time on nothing but he could live with that. It would be a boring mission, but it would be simple and to the point and they could return to their normal lives afterwards.

With that thought and a subtle straightening of his back, Alec crossed through the doorway and into Pandemonium.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm not caught up yet but eh, lets get this show on the road.
> 
> Alec doesn't think he likes galactic fashion. He hasn't met Magnus yet.
> 
> I haven't decided on any other ships thus far. Leaning towards Clizzy and Saphael but we'll see how it goes. I'll update the tags as I solidify these decisions.
> 
> Hope you've enjoyed the first chapter!


	2. Cataclysmic Variables

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which we meet some more prominent figures traveling on Pandemonium.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter name reference: cataclysmic variables are binary star systems that have a white dwarf – a collapsed star – and a normal star companion.
> 
> Just to be clear, none of the main interactions in this chapter are meant to be romantic. I just like the friendships and think they deserve a little spotlight too.

She stood there, barely inside the room, both hands covering her mouth.

Everything looked _gorgeous_. Below her golden heels stood absolute darkness sprinkled with tiny, flickering specks of light, as if they were floating in space itself. The illusion extended through the entire floor of the room, making it seem even larger than what it already was.

On the left there was a rather sizeable and impressive bar, with plenty of staff to accommodate all the guests clamoring for a drink. The counter hovered a few feet in the air, a long yet slightly curved lined of alternating brown hues, like a planetary ring. It was matched by the rack hanging above with all the crystal wear, vertical rather than horizontal but in the same exact shade. Bar stools hovered in front of the counter, the empty ones twirling gently in place. Round, plush, extremely comfortable, each one had a different color – blue and green and yellow and brown, not a solid block but lighter and darker shades blending together in an approximation of the inspiration for their design: a solar system.

On the right side of the room the lights grew dimmer, even the ones sparkling underneath their feet. An array of furniture was strategically placed, everything facing eastward. Couches, loveseats, tables with faded blue fields acting as table tops, armchairs, even the occasional puff chair for the more lackadaisical guests. All black, or near enough not to make a difference, the only hint of color being a small comet or two slowly making their way across this or that piece of furniture, as if part of the room rather than just the fabric. A stage featured prominently on the east wall, where the dark audience was facing. It, too, was mostly made of some dark material, but behind the performing artists was a burst of pale colors, curling from the inside out, expanding, shifting and reaching, the birth of a star in slow motion.

Diving the two sides of the room was a wide walkway, marked by a wavy pattern of blue-green-purple lights, a singular, continuous, uneven line like the ones that could be seen in the north poles of some of the most remote inhabitable planets. There was no furniture in this central part of the room, only the aurora flickering above their heads, and plenty of the guests stood there mingling and talking, revisiting old friends or meeting new acquaintances. Others just passed by, from one side of the room to the other, barely glancing at the décor. A rare soul or two seemed to be truly appreciative of all scenery surrounding them, but most seemed to be using it merely as an excuse to make small talk.

She stretched her arms out, wrists in line with her shoulders, and _twirled_.

Her white dress flared around her heels, spinning with her. The golden trims that rose into smoke-like tendrils throughout it flowing seamlessly from the fabric to her skin and her hair - courtesy of her latest trip to the mod station – as if the design didn’t belong to the clothes but to her entire being. Laughter bubbled out of her as she kept twirling, a torrent of giddiness and excitement and pride and affection rushing through her veins, leaving her overwhelmed and breathless.

“ _Clarissa_.”

The call didn’t quite snap her out of the exhilarating state the room had placed her in but it succeeded in calming her down a little. Still giggling, with a grin as bright as any star, she slowly stopped spinning and turned to face him, dress still brushing back and forth over her ankles.

“Hi, Dad.”

He stared back at her, his smile dimmer than hers but just as full of adoration and amusement. The man standing next to him – whom Clary had not noticed at all – was looking at her as if she had completely lost her mind. She offered him a shrug, still grinning, which made him frown slightly until her father pat his arm, immediately making him all smiles again.

“If you’ll excuse me. I need a moment with my daughter, I’ll catch up.”

“Of course, Valentine,” was the immediate reply and Clary had to stop herself from rolling her eyes at the groveling tone.

The stranger made a show of shaking her father’s hand rather vigorously, as if trying to mask how obviously nervous he was, and thanking him for his time. The gesture caused him to turn his back to her and Clary actually rolled her eyes, which prompted a raised brow from Valentine, to which she responded by sticking her tongue out like the nice, proper young lady she was.

After a few seconds of hesitation, the man finally left to speak with someone else and Valentine shoved both hands in his pockets as he walked towards her. He stopped a mere foot away and made a show of looking around the room, slowly and carefully, before turning to her with a teasing, amused glint in his eyes.

“Now, why do I get the impression that you were involved in the design of this room?”

Clary laced her fingers behind her back and leaned left with her hip, managing to look innocent and impish at the same time.

“I don’t know, Dad. It’s not _our_ ship. Maybe you’re confusing it with something else?”

“Uhm,” he stared at her for a moment before laughing. “Right, I’m sure that’s it.”

There was a pause as they both looked around the room again and then he grasped her shoulder.

“Your mother would be so proud of you.” His voice was gentle, soft, and she stared at him, blinking unexpected tears away from her eyes.

They didn’t speak about her mother all that often. It wasn’t a taboo subject – there were pictures of her all around their house and her father often brought up memories on what would be the day of their wedding anniversary – it was merely an emotional one for the both of them. It was clear in the way that he spoke of Jocelyn that she had been the great love of his life, an amazing woman, a doting mother and wife who had been taken from them far too soon. Being compared to her, being told that she’d be proud of Clary, had always been the highest compliment she could ever hope to receive and her Dad made sure to tell her that often.

“Thanks, Dad,” she managed, only slightly choked up.

He smiled fondly at her, squeezing her shoulder for a second. Then, he let her go and nodded in the direction of the bar, shoving his now free hand into his pocket again.

“Go on. I know you want to go see that friend of yours.”

Clary managed another entirely-too-innocent shrug. “I have no idea what you mean.”

That made him laugh again which made her grin in turn. She leaned up and pressed a kiss against his cheek, thanking him once more before turning around and heading towards the left side of the room.  There was no need to glance back to know that he was still looking at her, watching her leave. That was her dad, after all, always making sure she was safe. He could be a bit overzealous, but it came from a good place, so she didn’t complain. Much.

There were a lot more eyes on her now, she could tell. People had always managed to identify her rather easily but standing next to her father just made it even more obvious. A quick glance around revealed a few people ready to intercept her, so Clary lifted her chin, squared her shoulders and widened the length of her stride, looking for all the world like she was on a mission. Immediately, the people who looked ready to strike up small-talk with her for the chance of being introduced to Valentine seemed to falter and hesitate.

Keeping her head high, she walked straight towards the bar – until something rather abruptly hit her on the shoulder. “Ow!”

“Oh my- I’m so sorry!”

Clary turned to look at whoever had bumped into her, a sharp rebuttal at the tip of her tongue that died immediately. It wasn’t anyone she knew or had ever met before and while that usually wouldn’t be enough for her not to call someone out on their rudeness, the look of absolute distress on the stranger’s face was enough to stop her.

He stood barely half a foot away, hands held up as if he was pacifying some wild animal – or maybe just afraid to touch her again. The blazer draped over his shoulders suited him rather well and matched with the rest of the suit. It was something old, timeless really, a design that rumor had it had been worn since before humanity set out to colonize other worlds. Classical in all senses of the word, albeit a bit understated given everyone else’s dress. Despite the knock, the suit remained perfectly in place, not ruffled at all. His glasses, on the other hand, were badly skewed and barely hanging on, despite the best efforts of the lateral stabilizers. He made no move to right them.

“That’s… alright,” her frown was evident in her tone.

“I’m so sorry,” he repeated, reaching a hand out as if to help her and then immediately retracting it again. “Are you hurt? I hope you aren’t hurt- I’m so sorry, there’s so many people in here and I was trying to- you know this is a lot funnier in the movies, or at least it seems to be, but I guess it _is_ a movie, like hey on _Habitat Seven_! I’m not sure if you’ve seen that one yet-“

Clary blinked and tilted her head, trying to keep up with what he was saying but failing miserably. It was clear enough from the stuttering and the unfinished sentences and the rambling speech that he was nervous, however, and she found himself smiling a little. In the middle of all these people, practiced and smooth and savvy, bumping into someone who was quite clearly none of those things was… almost nice.

He ran a hand through this hair, finishing whatever he was saying, and she suddenly realized she had stopped listening.

“Oh, sorry, what?”

“Nothing, nothing, just- me, talking, you probably shouldn’t listen.”

A loud commotion grabbed her attention before she could answer. It seemed to come from the bar. Clary turned and stood on the tiptoes, squinting to try and see. There was some sort of smoke rising, swirling gently down as if it has been tossed up, sparkling when the lights hit it just right. Between it and the people clapping and standing in the way, it was rather hard to see what was going on.

Someone started laughing, leaning towards the left, someone else stood to the right and suddenly – a flash of black, slow moving swirls in a sea of solid, purple, glittery fabric that had her grinning and running towards it as fast as possible, mindless of the attention she was gathering. Clary avoided a group of gossiping guests and swerved around a waiter, ignoring the surprised gasps and the occasional undignified squawk, until a familiar back came into view. Grinning even wider, she practically threw herself at it.

“Magnus!”

He turned around incredibly quickly, right arm held out to the side – holding a drink, of course – and left wrapping around her even as they stumbled back, both of them laughing.

“Clarissa Morgenstern!”

Clary scrunched up her nose and swatted at his shoulder, playfully growling at him. “Don’t call me that!”

Magnus laughed again and pulled her closer into a tight hug which she gladly reciprocated. It had only been a couple of months since they last saw each other, as Magnus had been busy finalizing everything with the ship and most of her time had been spent between commission work, fundraisers and helping her dad’s campaign, but it was enough time to make her miss him terribly. No one else in her life was quite as whimsical as Magnus. Not one even came close.

“It’s lovely seeing you, biscuit,” he said as they finally separated with a genuine smile, the familiar twinkle in his eyes accentuated by the silver dusting his skin.

“You too, Magnus.”

She pressed a quick kiss to his cheek and then stepped back a little further so she could turn around and look over the room again. The colors, the finishes, the overall design, the division of the room, the aurora above their heads, the glittering stars floating in nothing underneath their feet, even the strategic placement of the furniture made her chest flutter and she couldn’t help feeling a little emotional, even as she knew Magnus was looking attentively at her, looking for a reaction.

“I take it you like it?”

“You didn’t have to do it, you know.”

“On the contrary, my dear,” he gently took her arm, waving the hand still clutching a drink, a silent dismissal to the group of people still surrounding them. His voice became lower, softer, even as the other guests obliged and dispersed. “Your artistic vision is nothing short of extraordinary. Letting it go to waste should be a crime – no offense to your dear father.”

“Oh hush, Magnus.”

She glanced at him for a moment. It’s not that her friend was wrong but they both knew that he could afford to have any number of famous designers help with this ship. They had practically been stepping all over each other to secure a place in its construction. The fact that Magnus had not only taken her every suggestion to heart and implemented it flawlessly – if this room was any indication– meant more to her than any number of fawning politicians pretending to admire her work.

Lacking the words to express any of her gratitude, especially in the face of her art come to life, Clary settled for grabbing the drink out of his hand and taking a sip, immediately making a face at the bitter flavor of it.

“Biscuit! You should never steal a gentleman’s drink!”

“Oh, a gentleman?” she asked, innocently, leaning forward as if to look behind him. “Where?”

The sudden, sharp raise of a brow made Magnus look like the very picture of indignation before he mock scowled at her. Clary laughed, even as she pressed the glass against him.

“Why, thank you _so much_ for returning my drink, petal.”

“Alright, alright,” she said, grinning happily. As he grab his drink and made to move back, her hands laid on top of his and stopped them, squeezing a little. “How about I buy you another one of those? Or whatever you’re having next?”

For a moment, they just stared at each other. Clary held his gaze, even as he blinked.

“What brought this on, exactly?”

“Nothing. I just…” she shrugged, trying to find the words to explain it, squeezing his hands again. “I know this has all been very stressful for you.”

Magnus opened his mouth but didn’t get to reply as Clary pressed on.

“No, don’t say that – and don’t make that face,” the raised brow greeted her again. “I know it’s been hard for you. Magnus, you’ve been working on this for _year_ s and you’ve barely slept for the past… six months?”

“Eight, actually.”

It was her turn to raise an eyebrow “Eight. That’s even worse. And now you have all this pressure to succeed, especially if you want your plan to go off without a hitch.”

“Oh, there’s no pressure,” Magnus replied, easy as anything. “I only need to make sure everything goes perfectly or my empire will crumble under my feet and I’ll be left in ruin.”

“ _Clearly_ no pressure.” Her dry tone made his lips twitch into a smile.

“Well, perhaps just a little.”

She stared evenly at him for another moment, then nodded towards the closest bartender. “Come on.  We’ll get a few drinks and then we’ll decide who the most gorgeous person here is so you can go flirt with them.”

Magnus laughed, even as he let her lead him by the hand. “Oh, I _heartily_ approve of this plan, Miss Morgenstern.”

“Ugh. How would you liked it if I started calling you Mr. Bane?”

“If you insist. It does have a lovely ring to it, much like my gorgeous bar. And myself, if I may say so.”

 “You’re impossible.”

 

* * * * *

 

His fingertips brushed gently over the slightly raised scar tissue. It was subtle enough that one would have to look out for it specifically just to notice, but it was there all the same. It hadn’t faded after all these years and it never would, not entirely. It was a small price to play for the implant, all things considered.

The sound of footsteps drew near, the door behind him opening slightly as someone walked in and then closed it softly behind them. He didn’t turn to look, merely continued undoing the cuffs at his wrists. His companion waited, shifting from one foot to the other but staying silent, as he carefully removed the small cufflinks – which had cost him no small amount of money, almost as much as the rest of the suit – and placed them on the small metal box in front of him.

Once that was done, he rolled his shoulders back and stared at himself in the mirror for a moment before his eyes locked onto the reflected figure, standing a few feet behind him.

“Clarissa Morgenstern,” he said, voice low and careful, with a slight drawl to it. “She is not to be harmed. Do you understand me?”

“But you said-“

“I _know_ what I said,” his chin jerked to the right as his eyes flashed, his posture suddenly tense and angry. “But she is not to be harmed under any circumstances. Are we _clear_?”

The figure behind him shifted from one foot to the other and back again but eventually – and reluctantly – nodded.

He waved a hand in the vague direction of the door. “Go.”

The sound of footsteps drew further and further away, followed by the gentle sound of the door being quietly opened and shut. He looked at himself in the mirror again, placing one hand in his pocket, the other rising up to scrape a blunt nail over the cuff on his right ear.  Everything was in place and thus far there had been no complications. Good. It was only a matter of waiting for the right time to strike now, and he could be a patient man, if the situation called for it.

He had done it before, after all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, show of hands, who trusts Valentine? No one? Good.
> 
> Next time: more new faces, business power-plays, undercover work and Alec and Magnus meeting. 
> 
> Small heads-up: I have two big presentations next week so I'll probably only be able to update anything again next weekend. 
> 
> Hope you enjoyed the chapter!


	3. Contact Binaries

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Alec attempts some undercover work and meets one Magnus Bane.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter name reference: a contact binary star occurs when two stars are close enough that their outer layers are in contact with each other.
> 
> Okay, I lied, I managed to finish this before my big presentation tomorrow (wish me luck!) so here it is.
> 
> I also made a sideblog thing on tumblr (https://outofcertainty.tumblr.com) specifically for SH and Malec, if you want to shout at me over there. 
> 
> Onwards with the chapter proper.

“What was wrong with her?”

“My dear, she made _Ragnor_ seem charming and approachable. Dreadfully boring and petty would not even _begin_ to describe her.”

Clary thought about it for a second, fighting a frown. Magnus was right but that didn’t help her plan any. Her finger circled around the edge of the glass, tracing the bright, electric blue garnish leaves dangling off to the side.

“What was wrong with _him_?”

Magnus’ disapproval was almost palpable and she didn’t need to look at him to picture his unimpressed stare.

“He said mauve should make a comeback this year. _Mauve_. I do have standards, biscuit.”

“I think that’s the problem,” she replied, cheekily, glancing up, and then laughing as Magnus placed a hand over his chest as if terribly offended by her answer.

It was their third day on the cruise and the guests had stopped instinctively flocking towards the inaugural bar in lieu of exploring whatever pleasures Pandemonium had to offer. The ship’s trajectory made sure that the previous day had been marked by warm temperatures and plenty of sunlight, which meant most people had elected to spend their day by the refreshing pools or enjoying the cafés with sunlit terraces. Today was proving to be no different.

Clary tapped her fingers against the table. The movement made shadows flicker across the surface – a crystal of baby blue hues with wavy lines that shimmered just so when the light hit it, reminding her of the beaches on Oabos. It was remarkably similar to the clear water of the pool, almost the same shade… or perhaps exactly the same one. The idea of color coordinating the water and the tabletops would seem ridiculous if she was thinking of anyone _besides_ Magnus Bane.

“I’m sure that there’s _someone_ here that’s up to your standards,” she said with a nod, loose curls bouncing a little around her chin.

“I don’t know,” Magnus sighed and leaned back, legs crossed, pressing his glass against his collar bone. “That’s a bit of tall order, don’t you think?”

“Weren’t you the one who said you could forgive a bad gift if the packaging was pretty enough?”

He raised a brow, pointing a painted fingernail in her direction. “Not if the wrapping is _mauve_ , petal. There’s forgiving and then there’s a blatant lack of self-respect.”

Clary rolled her eyes, even as she smiled. “Really? Because I remember you forgiving _worse_ fashion choices from that singer in Alpha Centauri.”

“Which we agreed _never to mention again_. I am allowed an indiscretion, especially one that-“ Magnus cut himself off abruptly and shifted in his seat, lowering himself down and looking away. She stared at him for a second, perplexed, before furrowing a brow and looking over her shoulder, searching out for someone in particular.

And there, passing on the other side of the café, dressed in a velvet black dress with shimmering green nebulae tendrils wrapping across her torso and shoulders, like the sun wasn’t bearing down on them. Head high, strides purposeful and, as always, followed by half a dozen people practically begging to fulfill her every whim and desire. There really was only one person in the entire galaxy that made Magnus look like her needed to bolt from the room – preferably with a very strong drink in hand – and that one person was Camille Belcourt.

Pressing her lips together, Clary fought down the intense dislike that immediately reared its head and resisted the urge to get up and give Camille a piece of her mind.  Slowly, while counting to ten, she breathed out and reminded herself that that wasn’t the type of spectacle Magnus liked to provide. As satisfying as it would be, she didn’t want to put him on the spot – or worse, risk ruin the project he had worked so hard on. So, instead, her gaze silently followed Camille until she had disappeared around the corner, in the direction of the pools.

“She’s gone.”

Magnus perked up immediately, rising in the chair a little but letting himself relax into it again. Clary smiled sympathetically at him.

“It could be worse. Camille _and Raphael_ could both be on board.”

He stared at his drink, tapping a finger against the glass.

She stared at him, brows rising higher with every second of silence hanging between them.

“ _Seriously_? Magnus, you let them both-“

Glancing briefly at the ceiling, Magnus waved his free hand as if dismissing the topic. “Biscuit, they paid and they’re both important people, regardless of their personal history with each other. Or with _us_ , for that matter. I couldn’t have stopped them without causing at least one major tantrum, and, quite frankly, that is the _last_ thing I need.”

There was a reply at the tip of her tongue but Clary held it back and nodded, even if it was with a frown. It still seemed like tempting fate to her. Camille hated Raphael and hated the both of them too for helping him with the coup. The wound to her pride was still relatively fresh. It had only been two years ago, although it certainly felt like longer, and she wasn’t exactly known for letting things go. Or being well-adjusted.

Still, Clary could see where he was coming from, and was just about to return to their very important Finding-A-Flirting-Target plan when Magnus’ eyes widened slightly. He straightened up, lips half wrapped around a word that never made it out, the finger that had been previously tapping at the glass stilling entirely. For a split second, a blank expression fell over his face, something she had never seen before flickering in his eyes, and then it was gone, leaving her disoriented and blinking as he smiled at her.

“Excuse me, my dear,” Magnus said, standing up. “I believe my standards have just arrived.”  


  
* * * * *

 

Two days. It had been two days and they had yet to find any shred of evidence that anything was wrong.

Alec leaned over the railing, fingers curling tightly around it, glancing at the vastness of space down below. It had only taken five minutes of him pointing out that the sooner they managed to identify any possible threats the better before Izzy and Jace glanced at each other and told him to sit the day out. Admittedly, the second day on board hadn’t been his finest hour but did Jace have to point out that there were still twenty-three days left on this mission?

His grip tightened almost to the point of pain. One beat, two, three and then his hands loosened and he sighed, shoulders dropping.  Fine, so maybe his attempted flirting with the senator’s daughter had been… less than successful. Asking someone if they were staying around for long while they were on a nonstop, long month cruise with nowhere else to go to wasn’t the smartest pick-up line he could have used, but he had panicked the moment she smiled at him, despite Izzy’s reassurances.

These types of games went so far over his head that Alec never stood a chance of grasping them. Give him a target to be eliminated out on the field or even an extraction mission any day of the week. And as much as he loved his siblings, watching them socialize and flirt effortlessly in an environment that was entirely alien to him left him feeling a little wrong-footed. The word _inadequate_ flashed through his mind. He squashed it immediately.

The sound of heels leisurely making their way towards him reached his ears, the stride so familiar that Alec didn’t even bother turning to look. Isabelle leaned next to him on the railing in a more casual imitation of his pose, as if summoned by his thoughts. If Alec glanced the other way out of the corner of his eye, he could see a flash of blond hair where Jace was still chatting with someone in the closest pool.

“We have a problem.”

This time Alec did glance at her, immediately alert.

“What’s that?”

Izzy sighed softly. “There are Downworlders on board.”

A long paused ensued. He stared for a moment, almost as if expecting her to suddenly admit she was joking with him to lighten him up or something like that. His sister stayed quiet.

“ _What_?”

Why would there be _Downworlders_ on this ship? Every single person they had managed to identify thus far had been someone either famous, rich or otherwise important in social and political circles. Sometimes all three. He couldn’t imagine them interacting with anyone from the Outer Rim and especially not with anyone from that one star system at the edge of the galaxy itself, collectively referred to as the Shadow Worlds. Just being seen there could risk someone’s image in the rest of the galaxy for a good reason – mostly its reputation of being a violent, criminal haven where anyone could get whatever they desired for the right price. It sounded tempting but it wasn’t the sort of place anyone who wanted their political career to survive would go to.

Isabelle sighed, again, this time with a sharp edge of exasperation.

“I know you don’t like them, Alec, but some of them are _very_ important people.”

Alec frowned.

“What they do is illegal.”

“Technically, it isn’t. Skirting the law isn’t the same thing as breaking it, brother.”

Alec frowned deeper, not exactly feeling up to Izzy’s semantic games.

“The law is the law. You either break it or you don’t.”

His sister shrugged – the same exact kind of shrug that she always gave him whenever she didn’t think he was right, a wordless ‘if you say so, brother’ – before leaning away from the railing, straightening herself up and starting to walk west. Alec glanced back to make sure Jace was still safe, then took the cue and caught up, falling into place next to her.

“Are they involved in this?”

That _would_ explain why the Institute had sent them in… but it didn’t make any sense. They had only been given the names of a very small percentage of the people expected to be on the cruise, mostly politicians, and none of them had been Downworlders. It was probable that they were on the full list but the Institute hadn’t managed to extract it, which meant that they hadn’t known about it either.

“Maybe,” replied Isabelle, tone betraying her skepticism.

Two children turned around the corner and ran in their direction, forcing them to slow down and step aside. Alec watched them go with a raised brow and an amused smile. One of them, the one with brown hair, was currently chasing the other, shouting about something not being fair. It reminded him of another young troublemaker he was very familiar with, and he could have stood there staring if Izzy hadn’t gently tugged him forward.

They fell into silence for a few moments as they kept walking, approaching one of the cafés closest to the pool. It had no windows or doors, allowing the people inside to enjoy the view and the warmth of the sun.

“We should see if we can make contact with one of them,” his sister said, abruptly breaking the silence.

Alec raised a brow. “Why?”

“They might know more than we do,” she smiled a little, mischievously. “I’m sure we can come up with something to leverage, dear brother. A couple of rich socialites like the Ailanthus are a least worth knowing-“

Alec glanced away for a second, tensing up at the flash of color glimmering to the left. It took him only a second to identify the culprit and relax. One of the guests at the café, the only one sitting with her back to him, had a head of flaming red hair with streaks of gold that shimmered and glowed in the sunlight, catching the attention of whoever was passing by. A quick glance didn’t reveal anything particularly dangerous and he was just about to look away when his gaze landed on the shoes of the man she was talking with.

Black, pointy, made of some sort of shiny material, with a glinting metal buckle shaped like some sort of symbol on the front. Part of it was covered by the tapered hem of his pants, a charcoal grey that flared at the ankles and narrowed on the way up, hugging his knees where they crossed over each other, stretching across his thighs, settling snugly over his hips where a belt rested. Dark, with small, streamlined glittery lines and no buckle in sight. It was hard to tell where the belt began and the shirt started – it too, was black, but the color shifted upwards, gradually, all the way to a light gray at his shoulders and then down his billowing sleeves, ending in a pure white that dropped far below his arm and seemed to actually drift off and disappear into the air, like mist.

“- is it? Is it your implant? I don’t see any-“

The sleeves draped gracefully over a large, strong yet surprisingly slender wrist and long, elegant fingers wrapped around a glass, the tanned skin in clear contrast with the silver, glittery nails and the light metal rings. There were several of them but one had a large, green stone set into it and above it, a small, round version of it cycled around and around like a satellite. There was a slight shift as the man looked up in what vaguely registered as exasperation. That thought was immediately discarded in favor of noticing the long line of his throat and then his jaw, sharp with defined curves.

There was something being said, but his gaze kept flickering between the smooth, glistering lines of his mouth and the facial hair surrounding it. His mouth tugged slightly to the right and Alec felt an answering tug in his chest. Belatedly, he realized he must be staring – must have _been_ staring – and made to look away, only to stop immediately as his gaze landed on the man’s eyes. Deep, warm brown made even deeper by the silvery dust and full, dark lashes surrounding them.

Suddenly, the man looked up, catching sight of him. Alec froze. The ground seemed to shift beneath his feet, despite him feeling moored to the spot. His chest started to burn, forcing him to release a breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding.

“ _Well done_ , brother.”

Alec blinked and the world snappily came back into focus, leaving him disoriented even as he glanced at his sister.

“Huh?”

She raised a brow at him, mouth pulling into a smirk as she mouthed something. He stared at her, trying to understand the movement. Everything still felt slightly sluggish and it took him a moment to realize she was talking to him. Right. Talking.

“What?”

Izzy’s brow rose even higher. So did her smirk.

“I _said_ , well done on already capturing a Downworlder’s attention, dear brother. And Magnus Bane, of all people.”

It took another moment for her words to sink in, Alec staring sharply at her once they did. He should have guessed. Despite never actually meeting the man – no agents were sent to the Shadow Worlds as a matter of policy, except in dire circumstances – he had read about him in the Institute’s files. This cruise was one big, fancy, overly long party, so that would be enough of an excuse for the man to attend, as far as Alec knew… but if there was something else going on, something involving Downworlders, then him _not_ attending would be more of a surprise. Yet, their mission files had not mentioned him at all. The wariness and discomfort of the first day, the feeling that something wasn’t quite right, reared their heads again.

Quick, dexterous fingers unbuttoned the top of his shirt, causing him to furrow a brow at his sister.

“ _What_ are you doing?”

“Play nice,” Izzy said, smiling up at him and ignoring his question completely. “And smile, it makes you look even more handsome.”

With a parting pat on his cheek, she turned around and started walking away. Before he had time to call out or ask her where she was going, someone cleared their throat behind him. For a second, he froze, but then forced himself to relax. _Focus on the mission, Alec_. With that thought planted firmly in his mind, Alec turned around and managed to keep down the hitch in his breath.

“Hey,” he said and tried for a smile. It came more naturally than it usually did.

“Hello,” Magnus Bane replied, then gestured with one hand in the direction that Izzy had left in, the ring with the small satellite captivating Alec’s attention again for a brief moment. “I hope I didn’t interrupt you and your… companion.”

“Oh, no,” he glanced in the same direction. “She’s uh… she’s my sister. She has other things to do.”

“Ah. I see,” there was an obvious hint of amusement to Magnus’ words, even as he extended his hand with an unnecessary flourish. “I’m Magnus Bane.”

Alec grabbed his hand and shook it, trying not to glance down at the point of contact. The contrast between the warm skin and the cold metal of the rings made him uncomfortable, almost wrong-footed. Up close, he could see the cuff around the top of Magnus’ ear – almost mimicking his own – and the way it wrapped around it, ending in a small stud earring that had a chain dangling down and from which a single, perfectly round, white crystal stone hang.

“Alexander Ailanthus. Alec.”

“Such a lovely name,” Magnus chuckled, as they dropped their handshake. “Are you parents dedicated scholars of literature? Or perhaps they just like alliteration.”

“A bit of both,” Alec shrugged and placed both hands in his pockets. Jace had told him, a few days before this mission started, that making small talk with people was easier than he’d think. Most liked to hear themselves talk and were more interested in what they had to say than what other people thought, so it was fairly easy to let them ramble as much as they wanted with only a vague word of encouragement thrown in every once in a while. Thus far, it seemed to be working. On Magnus, if not the senator’s daughter.

“I’m afraid this is terribly forward,” it was a modest sentence, but there was no trace of modesty to be found in his tone. “But… would you care to walk with me? It’s a rather splendid day and I’d appreciate the company.”

Alec smiled again and resisted the urge to look over at the woman Magnus had been speaking with. The man clearly had company already but Alec pushed down the part of him that wanted to point that out and turn the invitation down on principle. This wasn’t about manners or honor or even doing the right thing, it was about the mission. He couldn’t let this opportunity slide. There was a danger here, the risk of giving something away - the Institute was a secret organization, the Clave even more so, and no one but its members knew about their existence - but this could give them a lead. A lead they desperately needed.

“Sure. Lead the way.”

“Splendid!”

There was a pause in which Magnus placed his empty glass on the nearest table and then gently grabbed Alec’s elbow before starting to walk. His heart jumped a little in his throat but settled down a second later. _Focus on the mission_. It was harder than he’d anticipated – Magnus’ hand was so _warm_ that he thought he could still feel it grasping his elbow, even after they separated.

This wasn’t the time or the place for such thoughts. It was never the time or the place, but especially not here and especially not around Magnus Bane. At least when he had noticed Jace, a few years back– he viciously squashed that thought and almost blurted out the first thing that popped into his head to distract himself from it. Thankfully he hadn’t, because he didn’t think _so do you come here often_? would impress the man.

“Where are you from, Alexander? If you don’t mind the inquiry.”

“No… not at all. I’m from Xacrilia.”

“Ah, yes,” Magnus’ mouth curled up in amusement as he glanced at Alec. “The planet where even the flora has strong opinions on the political ramifications of a completely inconsequential comment?”

Relaxing a little at the thought that he wasn’t messing up too much, Alec managed a grin and lowered his voice a little.

“And even stronger opinions on the chef’s shoes.”

Magnus glanced at him for a second with something he could have sworn was surprise before laughing. It was a rich, warm sound that made it all the way down to his toes. Alec didn’t let it show, mindfully keeping his posture a little lose, his training kicking in as he no longer felt like the ship’s floor was shifting beneath his feet.

In truth, Alec had been to Xacrilia precisely once and he had hated every second of it. Izzy had insisted on the Ailanthus being from there, as it would give them an edge in social circles, and had briefed him rather extensively on the planet’s inhabitants, their culture and society. Alec had stuck with it, since it was such an important part of the mission, and he wouldn’t allow himself to jeopardize it just because he had to pretend to be something he wasn’t.

Another advantage of choosing that planet as their so-called homeworld was that half its population was made up of rich socialites, which meant that most people were unable to keep track of all of them. Three more showing up suddenly, unannounced, wouldn’t be at all surprising. They’d had to solidify their background of course, pay informants who’d relay their history to any of the cruise’s guests that looked them up, but it had a good chance of working.

And right now, it was proving to have been a good choice. He made a mental note to thank his sister later.

“And you?”

“Oh, I think it would be far easier to list the planets I haven’t lived on for some amount of time, darling,” Magnus glanced up above them, to the empty space surrounding the ship. “But I admit I have taken a liking to Oabos as of late.”

That wasn’t an answer, just a smooth, casual way of avoiding the question. Alec filed that away for later.

“Oabos? Why?”

“They have _excellent_ cocktails,” it was such a blasé reply that it threw him for a loop. It must have made him smile, because Magnus answered in kind, tilting his head and glancing up at him. “Trust me, Alexander, you have not truly lived until you try the Pan Galactic Gargle Blaster. It is an absolute _masterpiece_ , despite the atrocious name.”

“I’ll… keep that in mind,” he filed that away, too, despite not drinking. Personal details such as these were often important to remember in undercover work – or at least that’s what Isabelle had always said.

“ _Please_ do. There is at least one bartender on the ship capable of making it to an adequate standard, if you ever wish to try it. Ask for Maia.”

Magnus crossed his arms, left hand grabbing his right elbow, the fingers of his right hand curling and uncurling as he spoke, wrist flickering this way and that to emphasize a specific word. One of his shoulders leaned forward slightly more than the other, matching the slight movement of his hips as he walked with long but leisurely strides.

Alec forced himself to keep staring ahead and not glance at him.

“Maia?”

“She’s a friend of mine. Lovely person, excellent sense of humor. Just… don’t upset her.”

 _Maia_. He tried to match the name to anyone he had read about throughout his years at the Institute but nothing came to mind. She probably wasn’t an immediate threat, if a threat at all, but it would still be worth checking her if they were friends. Even if she had nothing on Magnus Bane that they could actually use, the fact she was a bartender meant she had probably heard _something_ important. Whether she realized it or not didn’t matter as long as they got the information. People tended to be too honest and speak too much a couple of drinks in.

Alec realized he had probably been quiet for too long when Magnus stepped in front of him and turned around, forcing him to stop in his tracks. It was difficult to keep his gaze steady when those silver framed eyes were staring directly at him and it was made even harder when one ring-adorned hand came up to brush against his arm. His instincts made him want to pull away – too close, too dangerous, too _tempting_ – but he stood in place, steadfast.

“Alexander,” Magnus said, taking one step closer so that their bodies were almost brushing together. The hand on his arm seemed to grow even warmer. “There is something I would very much like to ask you.”

“Ask it.”

He managed to force the words out and keep his voice steady, almost nonchalant, despite the heartbeat thundering in his ears. Magnus just stared at him for a moment, tilting his head again, the white crystal dangling from his ear swinging slightly with the movement. Something flashed across his eyes, something shifted in the lines of his face.

Alec glanced between his eyes, his jaw, his mouth, trying to determine what exactly had changed, why the hairs at the back of his neck stood up suddenly, but Magnus was leaning up, close enough that he could feel his breath, close enough that he could barely hear anything over the sound of his own heartbeat, close enough that Alec was one second from leaning away on instinct-

“Why would the Institute send agents to Pandemonium?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So. That didn't go as Alec expected it to.
> 
> He should get used to that.
> 
> I'm going to try and update TSM with the final installment before I update this again. Sometime next weekend hopefully.


	4. Celestial Mechanics

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Alec is out of his depth. Magnus' day goes from bad to worse. 
> 
> No one is happy about this.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter name reference: Celestial mechanics is the branch of astronomy that deals with the motions of celestial objects. Historically, celestial mechanics applies principles of classical mechanics to astronomical objects.
> 
> TSM is giving me a bit of trouble (read: it’s turning out too long and I keep having to cut it into more drabbles) so have this in the meanwhile.
> 
> We finally have Magnus’ POV in this chapter, which will hopefully give you a few hints regarding what he does and does not know.
> 
> PS: Apologies for any typos, I've had a very exhausting week.

Everything froze.

Magnus stayed exactly where he was, still close enough that they almost brushed. Alec realized, belatedly, what that shift in his expression had been. It didn’t matter how close they were, physically, it didn’t matter that Magnus still seemed to be smiling – the line of his jaw was slightly higher, his eyes were colder and more distant behind the charming friendliness, almost calculating. It reminded him of his first training sessions with Hodge, when he had been taken by surprise by how badly he had underestimated the man.

Alec stared at him for too long, desperately trying not to tense up reflexively. How had he known about the Institute? It should be impossible – _no one_ was supposed to know. Did they have a traitor? A leak? His first instinct was to deny the possibility immediately but how else would a Downworlder know about them?

There were more pressing things to worry about. The silence between them had lasted long enough to turn into tacit admission and he scrambled for something to say. Magnus kept quiet and just stared at him, expression pleasant but utterly unreadable.

“What?” he asked, trying for a laugh that sounded fake even to his own ears. “What are you talking about?”

“Oh, come now,” Magnus replied, rolling his eyes, charming demeanor suddenly gone. “ _Must_ we do this whole song and dance, Alexander – or whatever your name might be, I suppose it doesn’t really matter. I am quite capable of identifying an agent from the Institute on sight, darling.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

The raised brow he got in response made him realize his smile had dropped entirely.

“Why the Institute insists on taking me for a fool is beyond me. They could at least have sent a competent liar. No matter,” Magnus waved a hand, something angry hiding in the nonchalance of the gesture. “To what do I owe the pleasure of your company? A sinister plot? Perhaps a secret spy conspiracy? Or is your business here of a more… personal… nature?”

Five minutes ago, the question would have seemed playful. Now, it only made Alec defensive, trying to stare the man down. Regardless of what Magnus may or may not know, he didn’t have to tell him anything or even confirm it. His influence might be vast but there was little he could do about them – the Institute had made sure that every single piece of information in their background checked out. Siding with Magnus in any accusations would be too risky for the self-serving guests onboard, even _if_ they believed him about the spies, which wasn’t likely.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Alec repeated, more firmly this time, staring heavily at him.

Magnus took a step back but if the tone had worked on him, he wasn’t showing it. Casually, he raised an arm and flicked his wrist, eyeing him as if Alec was the most boring, boorish sight in the entire universe.

“What a shame. I was hoping we could establish a… mutually beneficial relationship.”

His snort was ignored entirely, drowned out by Magnus’ overly dramatic sigh.

“After all, I do have a considerable amount of wealth and influence – and good looks, of course. All three of which go rather far in this crowd. And my contact network, I have been reliably told, has featured quite prominently in the fantasies of your… colleagues.”

Alec raised a brow at him and snorted again. Why would he want connections to the Shadow Worlds? Izzy might think they’re useful but he didn’t like using assets he couldn't trust if they had any other option available. They put their lives on the line every single day in order to protect the billions of normal citizens in the galaxy. That required training, sacrifice, commitment and _trust_. The opposite of what Downworlders offered. He had Jace and Izzy. They were capable and they trusted each other to the ends of the galaxy. They could do this. On their own.

Alec leaned in slightly.

“I’m good.”

With that, he turned around, straightened his shoulders and started walking away.

“There is, of course, the fact that Pandemonium is _my_ ship.”

And stopped.

Alec closed his eyes for a moment, resisting the urge to curl his hands into fists. It was a lie. Of course it was, if this were really _Magnus Bane’s_ cruise ship, they would have known about it. The Institute would have known and it would have been in the files. By the Angel, _everyone_ would have been talking about it, the man wasn’t known for being quiet and discreet. He was trying to mess with his head. Alec should ignore him and keep walking. He should warn his siblings and get on with the mission. That would be the right thing to do.

He hesitated.

“You’re lying.”

“Am I?”

Alec stared ahead at the way they had come from for a few moments, then slowly – against his better judgment – turned around to look at him again.

“This ship is Viator Clerval’s. From Ingolstadt Enterprises.”

“Who is, as a matter of fact, rich, handsome, devastatingly witty and _entirely imaginary_ as I’m sure the Institute has told you.”

There was a pause.

Magnus stared at him, eye widening for just a fraction of a second at his silence. Then, he tilted his head and took a step closer to Alec, realization dawning across his face.

“Or perhaps they _didn’t_?”

 

* * * * *

 

Most days, Magnus was quite happy to ignore the Institute’s existence.

He supposed that it was inevitable. Humans being had always held the potential for the most graceful, benevolent gifts and the bloodiest, most brutal atrocities. For every mouth fed there was a life cut short, for every act of charity there was an act of treason, for every day of peace there was a night of war. Oftentimes, the same exact individuals were involved. There had always been good and bad and millions of shades in between and trying to categorize people into those morally neat, binary boxes had never made much sense to him.

It was true, however, that whenever power of any sort was involved, things tended to skew to the, let’s say, less savory side. In most civilized worlds, this meant that the population had need for some sort of enforcement agency that would safeguard the law. When it came to politics, economics, or the general games of people with more greed and ambition than sense, everything became more complicated. The law could in fact be, and oftentimes _was_ , unjust. In the absence of any public system that would persecute the crimes of the rich, it was only understandable that a secret one had been created.

Magnus didn’t have much of a problem with it, in theory. In practice, however, he found them needlessly blunt at best and self-righteously hypocritical at worst. His own personal experience with them was reduced to a single incident, over a decade ago when he had been a child, but one that had stayed in his memory rather permanently. He supposed he should be grateful to them for having saved his life. He wasn’t. Their disregard for the collateral damage that they caused when _maintaining peace and order across the galaxy_ – and the fact that they said this without any trace of irony was both amusing and alarming – had made him keep an ear and an eye out for their activities as soon as he started having the means to do so. He had no doubts that the Institute had kept a watchful eye on him too for the past few years.

Not that he interfered, most of the time. No, Magnus was quite happy to keep his distance and pretend to ignore them… as long as they did the same. Which is exactly why, when he had spotted one of their agents walking around on _his_ ship, he decided to confront him as soon as possible. It hadn’t even been particularly hard to tell they were from the Institute, which he found rather insulting. The “sister” – they were similar enough, he supposed, but it could just be a cover – blended in seamlessly, with a poise and grace matched by most of the other guests. The “brother”, on the other hand, looked like he had suddenly found himself in the middle of an impromptu award speech on Gladius VIII – uncomfortable, alarmed and with not the faintest idea of what was going on.

And then, to add insult to injury, he had introduced himself as Alexander Ailanthus. _Ailanthus_. Magnus had almost stopped them right there and asked him if the Institute really thought that little of his intellect. As if he wouldn’t immediately see through the cover. As if Ailanthus wasn’t a specific and very rare kind of _lightly colored wood_  originally from old Earth. Some relative of dear old Maryse, then, although he had thought she’d have retired by now. If the Institute’s goal here was to antagonize him, they had certainly managed that much.

He had wondered why the security team hadn’t briefed him on some of the guests having strange implants until he had moved closer and seen the cuff around Alexander’s ear. The most fashionable and ubiquitous accessory in the galaxy, making it the perfect scrambler. It wouldn’t hide the fact that they had implants from the biometric scans, but it could disguise their number and, most importantly, their nature. NEPHILIM-type implants were rather unique, after all, and that made them stand out. Magnus couldn’t really begrudge them the trick, as it was the same one he himself used.

He _could_ begrudge them being on _his_ ship. And he certainly could begrudge them for sending someone so completely out of place to try and fool him, one presumably related to Maryse Lightwood no less. That wasn’t the sort of thing that could be discussed out in the open but it hadn’t taken too long to get them to a somewhat secluded spot – he was intimately familiar with his guests’ routines and his ship’s layout, after all – and attempt to learn why the agent had been sent here and what he knew.

Except that now Magnus was starting to think that he didn't know much of anything at all.

“You’re lying.”

“Repeating yourself won’t make it true, Alec.”

Alexander – in the absence of his real name, that would have to do – was staring intently at him, brow furrowed and mouth twisted in what wasn’t _quite_ a frown or a scowl but certainly approached both. His shoulders tensed, fingers twitching. His stance shifted subtly, as if he couldn’t decide whether to stay put or move.

The Institute certainly had the means and the resources to see through the Viator Clerval facade, so he was either a tremendous liar or an awful one. Magnus suspected the latter, which only made him wonder why the Institute had sent _this_ particular agent.  There was a least another one, possibly more, he had to check later, but surely they had others who were better at this sort of schmoozing event. Whatever the man’s strengths – and Magnus could tell he was probably a force to be reckoned in a fight from the way he held himself and the way he moved – socializing was clearly not one of them.

“You have to be. If you were- they would have told us.”

“One would like to think so, but they clearly haven’t,” he raised a brow, pointing a glittery fingernail in his direction. Alec stared, and he could almost see the circuits firing inside his head. Looking for reasons, connections, excuses. Rationalizing.

“Even _if_ it were true-“ there was a pause as the agent cut himself off, clearly struggling with making sense of all this.

Magnus gave him time to come up with something, using it himself to think. Besides being insulting, the Institute’s presence in Pandemonium was also _worrying_.  Self-righteous and blunt they might be, but they didn’t tend to go where they weren’t needed. Something was wrong aboard his ship. Worse, he had no idea what it could be. Camille? Here to finally have exact revenge for his role in Raphael’s takeover of the Dumort Conglomerate? No, that was far too personal. The Institute wouldn’t care about a dispute between Downworlders.

Whatever it was, it didn’t bode well for him. Worse, it had the potential to hurt his friends, of which he had precious few. Catarina wasn’t on board, so she was safe. Raphael could handle himself at least, but he loathed to bother Ragnor with this – it had been hard enough to get him to come with so many people around, and he’d never let Magnus forget it if anything went wrong – and the thought of something happening to Maia or Clary…

He just had to make sure he’d stop it before it happened. Like it or not, the best way to do that was to play nice with the agents from the Institute. Very well. He didn’t usually let personal feelings get in the way of a good deal, this would be no different. Whether he could get the agents to agree with him was another thing entirely.

“Even _if_ it were true… why wouldn’t you own it? I’ve read about you. This isn’t the type of thing you’d pass up.”

Magnus rolled his eyes, even as he nodded slightly. Well, his reputation did precede him. It’d be useless to pretend otherwise, especially when he was already being accused of lying. And the Institute was always so inflexible about the truth. Unless it suited them, of course.

“It was _meant_ to be a surprise,” he sighed and waved his fingers flippantly, pretending he wasn’t the slightest bit put off by it possibly being ruined. “The greatest event on the cruise will happen towards the end. I was meant to announce that this had been _my_ project there, dazzling everyone with my brilliant and stunning entrepreneur spirit. Is that enough reason?”

Alec opened his mouth and promptly closed it. His brow furrowed even further as if he thought that if he just stared at Magnus hard enough, he’d be able to tell if he was being lied to or not. Skepticism aside, his face was far too handsome to be perpetually stuck in such a sour expression.

“My dear Alexander, doubt me if you must, but do stop making that face. It _will_ give you wrinkles, you know. And you might hurt my self-esteem.”

“Angel forbid _that_.”

Magnus blinked. Alec moved his head back slightly as if both confused and startled at this own snap response, which only made him look slightly… _adorable_. Which was, quite frankly, a word he never thought he’d use to describe absolutely anyone from the Institute, not even their pet jackalope. Not that they had one, as far as he knew, but if they did, Magnus had no doubt that it too would be all serious and no-nonsense. They’d probably name it Law.

“You wound me. Truly,” there was a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth, but he smoothed it out, gesturing with one hand between the two of them. “If you don’t believe me to be sincere about helping you, then believe me to be sincere about wanting my project to _succeed_. I have sunk quite a lot of money into this.”

There was a rather lengthy pause during which Alec stared at him, again – it was starting to get rather unnerving, if flattering – until he slowly, hesitantly, _finally_ nodded. Trust the Institute to believe Downworlders were only willing to do something if it served them personally.

“Wonderful,” he turned around and started walking, not waiting for an answer. “If you could follow me.”

For a moment nothing happened, even as he kept walking, but then he could hear Alec huffing under his breath and catching up with him.

“Where are we going?”

“To alter your security clearance. And grab a drink.”

Alec’s gaze landed on him again, a silent question that almost demanded to be answered. Magnus spoke again before he could voice it.

“As much as I find the sunlight invigorating – as should you, darling, you’re awfully pale – I thought we could continue our talk in a more… _private_ … setting.”

Turning the corner led them to a small pathway on the outer edge of the ship where the lower quarters were located. Rows and rows of small crystal panels littered the way, most of them blacked out. There was no one in sight. Magnus made sure to wink at Alec before continuing to walk – he hadn’t looked confused or startled this time, just exasperated and slightly uncertain. He was proving himself to be quite the quick study.

“Do you _have_ to do that?”

“Oh, I don’t _have_ to do anything, my dear. I _choose_ to do what I do, for my own reasons.”

Honestly, Alexander really _was_ going to end up with wrinkles if he kept constantly furrowing his brow like that. There were a couple of jokes at the tip of his tongue, about indulgence being a foreign concept to the Institute or perhaps obedience being their ah… _indulgence_ of choice, which he could certainly help Alec with. Free of charge.

There was a flash of something up ahead before he could make up his mind on which line to pick. Magnus stopped for a moment, trying to make sense of what it was. It clicked a second later and he broke into a sprint, ignoring the startled question behind him.

Falling, falling, falling – far too fast, weren’t the failsafe gravity wards working? – from somewhere halfway up the ship and he wasn’t going to get there quickly enough, but perhaps he could get close enough to-

Magnus stretched his hand out, following the falling shadow and felt the energy surge through his arm, nerve endings lightening up with something between impulse and pain. Bright, greyish blue flickers of light slowed down her fall, leading her away from the edge of the ship and gently lowering her down to the floor.

He knelt near her as soon as he was quick enough, turning her around and placing two fingers against her neck. His wristwatch’s screen flashed – red, red, green. Exhaling, he gently moved her head, trying for a more comfortable position.

“You have a DAEMON implant.”

Startled, Magnus looked up as Alec knelt in front of him. The presence of the agent had been entirely forgotten at the sight of someone _plunging down to their death_ , as had Magnus’ earlier plan of trying to play nice.

“Yes, yes,” he said, sharply. “I have one, Warlock Class if you must know, and I’d appreciate it if you could keep _that_ particular piece of information to yourself.”

Alec raised both brows.

“Calm down. We don’t even know who she is-“

“Alexander, I would advise you very strongly _not to finish that sentence_.”

Magnus looked up, locking gazes with him. His momentary distress was still flickering in the back of his mind, but something else had risen to take its place. _Anger_. This, this was what he couldn’t deal with, this _callousness_ that pervaded the Institute and every single one of its operatives. It was always about the mission, always about the greater good, and never about the actual _people_ , despite what they told themselves.

He spoke again, managing to keep his tone level, but there was no hiding the warning in his voice.

“Someone could have just died right now. No, I am not aware of who she is – and I do not particularly care. She is _hurt_ , she needs _help_ and I am going to help her, regardless of your personal feelings on the subject.”

They looked at each other for a long moment that seemed to stretch on.

Alec held his gaze, firmly, the intensity from earlier returning to his eyes. Magnus braced himself for the coming argument, ready to break off their tenuous agreement if needed, in order to prioritize the woman’s well-being.

“Okay.”

The word took a moment to register.

“ _Okay_?”

“Yeah,” Alexander glanced at the green-lit screen on Magnus’ wristwatch and then at her, moving the hair away from her face with surprising gentleness, before leaning closer to take a look at her neck. “Her vitals are stable and nothing seems broken. We should try an ID match.”

Magnus stared at him, speechless, until Alec looked up at him with a raised brow, promptly snapping him out of his disbelieving trance.

“Give me her hand. We’ll match her biometrics to the guest list.”

It only took a few seconds to take off his watch – gesture password on the inner wristband – and gently scan over her skin. It flashed again, blue this time, a torrent of numbers and symbols scrolling sideways as he gently placed her hand back down. Neither of them spoke, watching until the results popped up in a blue hologram.

[MATCH NOT FOUND]

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This entire thing would go a lot smoother if everyone stopped making assumptions about each other. Or if they just left the talking to Izzy.
> 
> If you want to shout at me about malec/fics, you can do so here: https://outofcertainty.tumblr.com/
> 
> On a totally-not-related-I-swear note, does anyone know if the Malec fandom is cool with dark!fics?


	5. Metallicity

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> With a mysterious comatose woman who is not meant to be on the ship suddenly in their care, Magnus and Alec finally reach an agreement.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter name reference: in astronomy and physical cosmology, the metallicity is the fraction of mass of a star (or other kind of astronomical object) that is not in hydrogen or helium.
> 
> Notes: More worldbuilding stuff, about the implants specifically, so it's a slow chapter. Also, the ships tags have been updated. On that note, the next chapter is from Izzy's POV.
> 
> Onwards!

“She’s not on the guest list?”

Magnus ignored his question entirely, gazing intently at the woman. Her eyes were closed and her long, straight brown hair was currently in disarray. There was nothing about her that really stood out. Even her clothes seemed perfectly normal – a long sleeved blouse and skirt with contrasting colorful patterns that pulsed slowly in and out. On another planet, it might have drawn a few looks but in the middle of the crowd onboard it passed as subtle and understated. If anything, she seemed underdressed compared to everyone else.

“That’s not possible,” Magnus muttered, checking again rather quickly. The result flashed again, identical. “No one can enter this ship unless they are on the guest list. We stood every precaution not to be fooled.”

“ _We_ fooled you,” Alec pointed out, receiving an unamused glance and the wave of a hand in reply.

“Yes, well, you have the backing of the Institute which, much as I loathe to admit, does have considerable resources. Which only begs the question…”

They both looked down at her again at the same time. Alec frowned slightly and finished the thought:

“Who’s backing _her_?”

Silence was the only answer to his question. It only lasted a moment, however, as in the next one Magnus was trying to slowly lift her upper body up.

“Little matter. I am sure we can interrogate her to our heart’s content once she receives some medical attention-“

Alec leaned forward and grasped the man’s wrist, receiving a sharp glance in response. His own gesture startled him, but he tried not to let it show, focusing on staring straight at Magnus instead.

“Let me. I’ll carry her.”

There was another moment of silence, eyes narrowing slightly at him in suspicion. Truthfully, Alec didn’t quite know why he was offering his help. The woman could be innocent – it was his job to safeguard the normal citizens of the galaxy – but after finding out she wasn’t supposed to be on board, that seemed a lot less likely. She was probably connected to whatever the Institute thought was going on behind the scenes in Pandemonium… so it was only smart to keep an eye on her and not relying on Magnus to do it.

Yes, that was probably the reason for his reaction. It had nothing to do with Magnus' act. Up until that point, there was no denying that he’d had the upper hand in their conversation. The Clerval cover-up had to be a lie, the Institute would have told them otherwise, but it had succeeded in throwing Alec off nonetheless. Then the woman had fallen down and the smooth, graceful movements had been replaced by sharp gestures; the flowery, charming speech had given way to abrupt sentences; the careful negotiating turning into hard, uncompromising stances.

It was a trick. It had to be, something to make Alec think Magnus actually cared about the well-being of a random person he didn’t even know. It was hard to believe the concern was genuine, given some of the things on his file, but… he had _seemed_ honest. If Izzy were here, she’d be able to tell. No one was as good at reading people as his sister. That and dissecting bodies, although – he glanced down, quickly, just to make sure she was still breathing – he hoped that _that_ wouldn’t be necessary.

“Very well, but do hurry.”

Alec nodded and carefully but swiftly wrapped one arm under her shoulders and the other under her knees. Shifting his center of balance made it easier to stand up in a straight line, keeping her mostly in place. There was still no one else around, but the sound of people chatting and laughing could be heard faintly in both directions. Getting out discreetly would be difficult.

“How are we getting to the medical bay without anyone else noticing?”

Magnus raised a brow at him. Alec raised a brow right back.

“What? Didn’t you say it was _your_ ship?”

If it really was, he would know how to get around. There had to be service hallways and automatic disposal ports nearby.

“That is it, my dear, and you would do well to remember it.”

A raised hand, tiny blue sparks, the snapping of fingers and a square of the floor about three feet in front of them slid to the side, revealing the darkness beneath. Alec’s brow rose a little higher.

“Jumping’s fine, but we might hurt her.”

Magnus stopped, already a few steps ahead of him, and glanced back.

“The Institute should invest in eyesight improvement implants,” he bit down on the answer at the tip of his tongue but something must have shown on his face because the man continued. “Or perhaps they already have. Interesting.”

Without waiting for a reply, Magnus turned back around and walked towards the open panel. It was only when Alec drew close enough to it that he managed to see the staircase leading down, made of some transparent material that made it hard to see in the darkness – which didn’t last very long either before a couple of blue lights turned on above them, illuminating the way.

It was a path clearly meant for the service staff, branching out in a dozen different directions every few feet, little rectangular transporters popping up along the walls every once in a while. Their footsteps were surprisingly quiet, making him suspect some sort of sound dampener field. Alec glanced around discreetly, trying to memorize which way they came from and where they were going. It would be useful to know, especially since the blueprints acquired by the Institute had been very incomplete, barely anything more than what was available to the public.

Neither of them spoke as they walked, which suited him just fine. It couldn’t have been more than a few minutes before Magnus stopped and snapped his fingers again, another panel opening above them. This time, Alec was able to notice the transparent staircase forming as the exit opened. He expected them to come out in the medical wing, but that clearly wasn’t the case. Instead of a wide room with huge windows and fancy, state of the art medical equipment on display, what awaited them was a much smaller, darker room, with only two rectangular windows on the ceiling of all places.

Glancing around quickly revealed only a couple of beds, a few different scanners and two medical emergency pods on opposite sides of the room. He wasted no time in heading towards the nearest one and carefully placing the unconscious woman inside of it. Magnus was at his side in a second, closing the pod and watching silently as a blue light ran over her a couple of times, scanning. A hologram at the bottom end popped up, preliminary information showing up first: weight, height, approximate age.

It would need more time for a deeper scan – they needed to know if there was something in her system, she’d been unresponsive so far – and he glanced at the man at his side, about to say something before a particular piece of information drew his attention back to the results of the scan.

 

IMPLANT DETECTED

TYPE: DAEMON

CLASS: WARLOCK

 

Alec stared at the glowing letters for a moment and then at Magnus, who shook his head.

“I do not know her.”

“Warlock Class, Magnus. She’s been in the Shadow Worlds at least once,” the accusation was only implicit but it still came out sharper than he meant it to.

Magnus turned to him, slowly. There was absolutely no hesitation in his gaze, no fear, and when he repeated himself the words were firm and clear, accentuated by slight pauses in between.

“ _I do not know her, Alexander_.”

“Someone else might. There are other Downworlders here, right?”

Silence settled between them again, growing heavier and sharper with each passing second. Magnus kept staring at him with his chin raised slightly and a calculating look in his eyes, but still giving absolutely nothing away. They found themselves once again precariously close to – _something_ – that would make them stand off against each other and they couldn’t afford that. _Alec_ couldn’t afford that.

As much as he didn’t want to admit it, Magnus had been entirely right. He was the biggest asset they could possibly get on this mission. He had information, connections, access to tech that they couldn’t normally use without flagging security and, even if Pandemonium was Viator Clerval’s – a strange, uncomfortable feeling of disquiet and suspicion, again, ruthlessly pushed aside – he seemed to know his way around the ship very well. On top of that, he already knew about the Institute, which meant they didn’t have to cover their actions nearly as much.

It wasn’t an easy thing to accept, but it was a simple one. Alec stared back at him and straightened his shoulders:

“Okay, look. I don’t trust you. And I know you don’t trust me. But we’re each other’s best bet if we want to find out what’s going on here. So we should call a truce, pool our resources together and get to the bottom of this. It’s bigger than the both of us.”

He stuck his hand out in a simple offer. For a moment, nothing happened. Alec was a little startled to find himself surprised by the lack of a witty retort to his last comment – less than an hour with the man and he was already familiar with his mannerisms enough that a sudden change in them was noticeable enough to cause surprise. He forced those thoughts away, to the back of his mind, and focused instead on holding Magnus’ inscrutable gaze.

Slowly, with a surprising amount of elegance for someone who was staring at him rather than at what he was doing, Magnus grabbed his hand. There was a jolt, sharp and lightning fast, and Alec tried to downplay his reaction – the slightly upturned corners of Magnus’ mouth let him know he had failed; he ignored it – as they shook hands. The grip was a lot stronger than he expected it to, the hand clasped around his larger and warmer than it had seemed.

His heart thundered in his ears again, but only for a moment before their hands dropped. Magnus turned to look down at the woman again, seemingly unaffected.

“I truly do not know who she is. I assume from her implants that she is not one of yours?”

Alec barely stopped himself from snorting, settling for shaking his head ahead.

“No,” another moment of hesitation, followed immediately by an honest stubbornness to honor this new truce they had. “There’s only three of us here. She isn’t one.”

“That you know of, my dear, but I agree it is rather unlikely that she was sent by the Institute. There are indeed other Downworlders onboard. I doubt that they know her,” he opened his mouth, closing it again as Magnus raised a finger. “ _But_ I will reach out to them and ask. I assume you will be briefing your fellow agents on our little arrangement?”

“Yeah,” he just wasn’t sure how they’d take it. Especially after he’d seemingly disappeared – no one had followed them into the service area, he was quite sure and at that thought, he looked around again. “Where _are_ we? This isn’t the sick bay.”

“No, it’s a private health ward. I wouldn’t want any of my guests stumbling upon our unconscious stowaway. Rumors might spread.”

Alec nodded, noticing the conspicuous absence of any type of door. He’d been too preoccupied with memorizing the way here and then placing the woman in the pod as quickly as possible to notice it earlier. If the only way in was through where they had come from, it meant that no one was likely to stumble in here. At least they had that on their side.

“Alexander, your wrist, please.”

Blinking, he focused on Magnus again, who was staring at him expectantly, hand extended towards him, palm up, fingers slightly curled. Despite his reservations, he slowly raised one arm towards him.

“What for?”

A chuckle made him pause, catching the clear amusement dancing in Magnus’ eyes.

“While your hands are both equally striking, I meant the one with the biometrics band on it.”

Oh. Right. Alec lowered his arm and brought the other one up, firmly ignoring the flush in his face, choosing to focus instead on Magnus’ electric blue fingertips tapping at the band. Bright red and purple symbols flashed up and disappeared just as quickly with every single touch.

“What are you doing?”

“I imagine it would be rather difficult for you and your friends to investigate without resourcing to your NEPHILIM implants. I assume you have been refraining from doing so as to not set off any alarms in security.”

The statement made him frown, shoulders tensing, but he resisted the urge to look up at Magnus. Knowing about the Institute was one thing, even if he could scarcely believe it, but knowing how their implants worked was something else _entirely_. How, exactly, did Magnus Bane know all of this? It wasn’t the sort of thing one could just dig up, no matter how extensive his network of contacts might be. There was absolutely nothing in his file indicating that he had ever even run across the Institute, nevermind that he knew of them and, possibly, of the NEPHILIM technology.

“How do you _know_ that?”

Magnus paused, eyes remaining on the band for a second before flickering up to his. When he spoke, his words were surprisingly quiet and measured, almost gentle:

“If you truly do not know, and if you wish to know it… ask me again, once we have dealt with our current problem. I do warn you, dear Alexander: you will not like the answer.”

Another moment of silence. His first instinct was to push, to demand an actual answer, which that clearly hadn’t been. It would have worked with Jace and with other agents back at the Institute, it would probably have worked with Izzy, but he doubted that it would work with Magnus. If anything, it would only put them at odds, again. So Alec bit his tongue and nodded, relaxing a little once Magnus dropped his hand.

“You may now activate them as you wish, but do try to be discreet. People would notice a sudden tattoo, especially if you hadn’t been seen at the mod station beforehand. Oh and you might also contact me through it.”

He hadn’t needed to be told that first part, he was perfectly aware of how his implants worked. Despite being secret, the NEPHILIM type implants were clearly the best, having only two setbacks. The DAEMON implants, on the other hand- the thought brought him up short, making him focus sharply on Magnus, who was thankfully distracted by the results of the scan again.

The DAEMON implants weren’t illegal but they _were_ frowned upon. There was a reason for that and it wasn’t their steep price. No, it was the dangerous side effects. In order to give their hosts specific abilities, they had to alter their genetic code. The changes had to be done at the molecular and physiological level, which lead to different defects depending on the class. The Lycan class implant often gave their hosts unnatural and bright eye colors, which wouldn’t be a problem given the popularity of mod stations, if it weren’t for the enhanced strength and violent urged that accompanied it.  The Nightchild class often gave their own hosts razor sharp teeth and an extremely allergic reaction to close-proximity starlight.

The Warlock class, however, was the most unpredictable of all. The range of mutations and defects that they provoked was massive and the only thing they had in common was that the new features weren’t natural in human beings. Alec had seen leathery wings, scaled hands, slithering tails and even hooves, once. The lower the quality of the implant, the more severe the defects seemed to be – at least, according to what he’s read over the years. The safest ones – which weren’t very safe at all – were terribly expensive but cheaper ones existed. That was one of the reasons he disliked the Shadow World systems so much. It was the one place in the galaxy where you could dodge the safety regulations and not even suffer legal repercussions for your actions.

The thing was, Alec hadn’t seen anything of the sort on Magnus. Or the woman. It could be hidden by their clothing, he thought, discreetly eyeing the man.  Some things, like horns, were very difficult to hide but if it was something subtle, maybe it could be covered up. Except that Magnus’ clothes didn’t exactly leave a lot of room to hide much of – anything. Shiny black shoes too narrow to be covering any hooves or reptile-like feet, pants tight enough that anything seemingly out of place would be immediately noticeable and the shirt wasn’t much better. Scales, maybe? His gaze flickered between the man’s hands, wrists, neck, following along his jaw, up the side of his face until reaching his ear, where a cuff rested.

_The cuff_. The cuff that probably had a scrambler in it, the same way his own did. Had Magnus taken the idea from the Institute? Or had the Institute taken the idea from _him_? The thought left him with an uneasy feeling again, something that was beginning to happen whenever Magnus and the Institute were brought up in relation to one another.

“-quite flattered, but perhaps now is not the best time to be mentally undressing me.”

Alec blinked, snapping to attention. Magnus was staring at him again in amusement, fingers drumming against the transparent top of the pod.

“What? No- I wasn’t- I mean-“

“Perish the thought,” Magnus said, his free, ring-adorned right hand waving as if dismissing the notion. “My point stands. As much as it pains me to pry your lovely gaze away from me, I would rather the other agents did not come looking for you. Historically, that has not ended well for me. Off you go then, my dear.”

A snap of his fingers and the panel on the floor slid off again. Alec barely noticed, thoughts a little jumbled. It took a sharply raised - if amused - eyebrow to get him to move, to turn around and go through the small exit before he had time to embarrass himself any further.

He was halfway through making his way back when Magnus’ words finally registered.

_Historically…?_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry about the delay for this one. I'm still tired.
> 
> As usual, you can find me on tumblr [HERE](https://outofcertainty.tumblr.com/).
> 
> Thank you for reading!


	6. Microgravity

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> While her brother is off with Magnus Bane, Izzy does some undercover work of her own.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter name reference: microgravity is the condition in which people or objects appear to be weightless. 
> 
> My reading of Izzy is that while she’s very bright academically (see: best forensic pathologist in NY), her emotional intelligence is just off the charts. 
> 
> By the way, if you’re reading contradictory information depending on the POV, just keep in mind that different characters know (or _think_ that they know) different things.
> 
> Anyway, on with the chapter!

She waited only a couple of minutes before returning to the café.

There wasn’t a trace of her brother when she arrived, but her target was still there, sitting at the same table, staring in the direction they had walked off with a small, fond smile on her face. Izzy stopped right around the corner and observed her for a moment.

Alec hadn’t noticed her. He’d say he was too preoccupied with the mission, but unless their mission had suddenly switched to admiring Magnus Bane to the point of breathlessness, he’d just be saving face. Which was fine, she wasn’t about to tease him about it – well, not _too_ much. She wasn’t really joking when she said he could be a valuable asset, if he could be persuaded to share some information. Whether Alec would be able to get him to agree to it was something else entirely. Still, there was no loss in trying and it had the added benefit of leaving _her_ alone for the time being. With her back turned, it had taken Izzy a few seconds to recognize her, but the flaming hair and artistic dress choice weren’t hard to pin down. _Clarissa Morgenstern_.

Initially, she had simply filed that information away, along with her choice of companion. Their friendship wasn’t exactly a secret, although they didn’t call a lot of attention to it either, but seeing them together made her pause. Admittedly, Izzy wasn’t as up to date with the latest gossip as she usually was – an error on her part, putting together their background information had been top priority for the last few months – but she didn’t remember hearing about Clarissa dating Magnus Bane. If it had happened, it would have been the talk of the chic end of the galaxy for months on end. The smile that graced her features now, however, had very little to do with infatuation and everything to do with fondness. A strong friendship, then, something akin to sibling love, and that could prove important later on.

After deliberating for a second, Izzy straightened her shoulders, smiled, and walked in the direction of Clarissa’s table. There were very good reasons not to cozy up to her, as Alec would probably point out. Schmoozing was one thing, mingling with the daughter of one of the galaxy’s most famous politicians was another, especially as the Ailanthus were posed to quietly disappear after the cruise. Besides that, it would probably make them a little too visible to anyone else and getting actually involved in political or social disputes, rather than just pretending to be, would make their mission a lot more complicated.

But there were also good reasons to do this, just not ones that Jace or Alec would approve of. Izzy had always been a believer in the high risk, high reward mentality, but more importantly, she had been harboring a deep curiosity and _suspicion_ about Clarissa’s father for years now.  While Jace’s teenage rebellion manifested in provoking unnecessary fights during missions and Alec’s in developing an allergy to anything that wasn't a part of his work, Isabelle’s had taken the form of not only flaunting the rules but, most importantly and secretly, eavesdropping on their parents.

It was something she had never mentioned to anyone, despite almost being caught a few times. Maryse and Robert were both very important members of the Clave, so most of their conversations had to do with politics. Not that the Clave would ever directly meddle in galactic affairs, oh no, but they were constantly working behind the scenes to make sure everything would shape up the way they wanted it to. Nudging this or that figure, supporting specific candidates or movements and not others and sometimes, she suspected, provoking a rebellion or two whenever it was convenient.

They covered their tracks exceedingly well. The Clave’s existence was every more secretive than that of the Institute, which was made easier by a lot of their members having been former agents. That was the case with their parents as well, they had moved onto secretly influencing politics after retiring from the field. It hadn’t been strange to overhear them talking about Valentine Morgenstern, at a time a quickly rising star in the political scene, even if he hadn’t been as well-known as he was now. No, what had caught her attention was what her mother had said.

_Valentine wouldn’t want us to._

It had left her confused at the time, uneasy but unable to tell why. As she had progressed in her training and career, she’d slowly come to understand why it had bothered so much: it made little sense. Valentine wasn’t a part of the Clave, as far as she knew. He couldn’t be, they operated from the shadows, not from the spotlight. And _they_ were the ones pulling the strings, so what did it matter if this one political figure wouldn’t want them to do something? She didn’t think that had ever stopped them before.

Unfortunately, she had almost been caught by Alec and hadn't been able to hear the rest of the conversation. Subsequent attempts at eavesdropping or snooping had revealed absolutely nothing which rather than reassure her, only made her more suspicious. There had been very little she could do about it at the Institute, or even outside, without drawing the ever-watchful gaze of the Clave. Until now.

“Hi,” Izzy said, curling a hand around the back of the chair previously occupied by Magnus Bane.

“Huh?” Clarissa looked at her suddenly with wide, blinking eyes, long bangs bouncing around her chin for a moment. “Oh, hello. I’m sorry I was… uhm, thinking.”

“That’s okay,” she smiled, watching as the eyes on her widened slightly. _Cute_. “Would you… mind if I sit here? I want to ask you something.”

There was an immediate change in the woman’s behavior: back suddenly straight, expression shifting from surprise to a polite distance, nod sure but reserved. Something you would expect from a politician’s daughter and the fact she had immediately adopted this posture told Izzy that most people only talked to her to ask about her father. That was something she could work with, she thought, still smiling as she sat down and crossed her legs.

“I’m really sorry, I just… worry about my brother. He’s the one that your friend was speaking to…?”

“Oh,” there was a slight relaxation of her posture, shoulders dropping a little. “That was your brother?”

“Yeah,” Izzy chuckled, leaning in, placing both her forearms on the table. “I’m always encouraging him to have fun and relax, so I’m glad he took my advice for once. But…”

The thing that a lot of field agents who shunned undercover work didn’t understand was that most of the time you were better off being as honest as you could. The closer you stuck to the truth, the easier it was to remember and the more natural you seemed. Plenty of people had a very strong intuition when it came to detecting lies – and Izzy herself had never been one to doubt her own instincts – and they were much easier to lead along with half-truths. Clarissa stared at her for a moment and then relaxed a little further, a small, genuine smile blooming across her face.

“But you still worry. I know,” her tone was gentle, fingers curling around one of the garnish leaves on top of the glass on the table. “Magnus can probably take care of himself better than I can but I still worry, too.”

“So you won’t take it the wrong way if I ask what his intentions are?” her question was teasing, playful, but it still made the woman sitting across from her raise her chin and speak surely.

“Magnus Bane is a good man,” there was a pause and then she scrunches up her nose a little. “But probably not very… … pure.”

Izzy blinked a few times and then leaned back with a laugh which provoked a grin in turn. No, she wouldn’t have thought so, but the mix of fondness and exasperation in Clarissa’s tone genuinely amused her.

“That’s what I was hoping to hear. I think Alec could do with being a little less good- oh,” she interrupted herself and extended a hand, as if the thought had just occurred to her. “I’m so sorry, I forgot to introduce myself. I’m Isabelle, but you can call me Izzy.”

It took Clarissa a moment to grab her hand and when she did, her grip was surprisingly firm and calloused. Not dry, but there were some patches rough with use and it took Isabelle only a moment to recognize the pattern: clasping something, often and for long periods of time. Probably a pen, given her rumored talent for art.

“I’m Clary.”

“It’s nice to meet you. I’m sure it’ll be nice to meet Magnus too, at some point,” she dropped her voice a little, smile still in place. “You seem very fond of him.”

“Yeah,” Clary glanced down at her glass, gaze soft and distant, as if remembering something. When she raised her head to look at Isabelle again, it was with a startling intensity that made her pause. “I wasn’t joking. He’s a good man. A good friend.”

Honesty. Loyalty. Protectiveness. They shone like speaks of gold in her green eyes and Isabelle clamped down on her reaction, only a hitch in her breath escaping.

Another well-known secret to those who did undercover work was that you couldn’t _pretend_ to like someone for a long length of time without them noticing something was wrong. A short-lived dalliance like Jace often did was one thing, but anything longer than that required you to actually _feel_ whatever was necessary for your cover. It was entirely possible to convince yourself you loved or hated someone when you didn’t. Sometimes it took a lot of work to make yourself like someone for a mission, but other times… other times it was easy. Other times, when good, genuine people got involved, it was far, _far_ too easy.

Her natural talent for reading people and knowing how to nudge them in a given direction was only part of the reason why Izzy insisted on taking on as many undercover missions as she could, even when assigning them to Jace or Alec would make more sense for the sake of the cover. When the mission depended on getting emotionally involved with someone, you did what you had to do. If the connection didn’t have to be forced, it if was genuine, then everything was easy – if not simple – up until the end. And the end was _heartbreaking_. There was no way to be close to someone, to forge that genuine connection with them, and not have it hurt when you had to sever it, usually abruptly. It was the sort of thing she had wanted to spare her siblings from, whenever she could, as often as she could. They suffered enough without carrying all those loose, broken threads inside of them.

“Izzy?”

She blinked, coming back to the present and mentally cursing herself for getting distracted – that hadn’t happened in _years_ , not since Meliorn, not since Faria I and that wasn’t what she should be thinking about right now. Clary was staring at her in concern, head tilted, slightly cold fingers touching her own in a gesture that seemed mostly instinct. To care, to protect, to comfort. Izzy didn’t move her hand, not wanting to draw attention to it.

“I’m so sorry, I got… distracted. That’s good to hear, about Magnus.”

“Are you okay?”

The tone of concern was so genuine and earnest, Angel help her. Maybe there would be no need to involve Clary in this mission. And there _definitely_ was no need to tell Alec or Jace about this. None whatsoever.

“I am, I just love the gold in your hair,” Izzy smiled again, lifting her free hand to almost but not quite touch the dangling bangs. “It blends so well.”

“Oh!” there was a faint, barely visible dusting of red across her cheeks at the compliment. “I got it done at a mod station. I wanted to do something… different?”

“I love different. Did you do it here, on the ship?”

“No, before we came here, actually,” Clary shrugged, pulling her hand away from Isabelle’s to rest on the table. “I haven’t been there yet.”

“So where _have_ you been? I’ve tried to get my brothers to come explore with me, but all they want to do is stay by the pool. Or _inside_. We’re on a cruise ship!”

Clary cracked a smile again, nearly symmetrical but not quite, a glint of teeth showing at the bottom.

“I actually really like the park.”

Isabelle blinked, tilting her head slightly.

“The park? Isn’t that going to open only next week?”

There was a long pause between. Then, Clary wrapped one of her long bangs around her finger, twisting it around and around with a shrug, the perfect picture of innocence.

“I… may or may not have a way of getting in there.”

A smirk tugged at the corner of Isabelle's mouth as she leaned closer, brow raised in both amusement and surprise.

“Oh?” another shrug was her only reply, so she lowered her voice to a whisper. “Getting into trouble, are we?”

“Not if we don’t get caught.”

It was such a frank response that it took her by surprise – how many times had that happened during this short conversation already? – and provoked a chuckle. Izzy lifted one of her arms, elbow resting on the table, chin propped up against her fingers.

“It’s… very tempting,” and it was, she had always had a bit of a problem with resisting the forbidden. “But I wouldn’t want to get on Ingolstadt's bad side. Are you a friend of Clerval’s?”

There was a small pause, barely long enough to notice. Clary tensed subtly, gaze glancing away barely for a moment before looking back at her, lips parting a second before she actually spoke.

“In a way. I wouldn’t worry about him.”

A clear lie, the very first one to pop up between them, and it hadn’t even come from Isabelle. _How very interesting_ , she thought, catching a few more signs of nervousness in the woman sitting in front of her despite the firm gaze: restless fingers, a slight dip in her smile, mouth partially open as if she had more to say but adding nothing.

It was hard to pin down what exactly she was lying about, but based on her choice of words, there were only two options. One, she wasn’t actually friends with Viator Clerval. _In a way_ didn’t mean _yes_ , it was just an obvious way to circumvent the question entirely. In which case, Isabelle had to wonder: how exactly did Clary manage to get in the park? If they weren’t friends, there was no reason for her to be able to access a closed off area of the ship. She could be involved in whatever they had planned for the opening, but the way she said she had a way of _getting in there_ suggested sneaking around more than having access. And if that was the case, there was another, even more interesting question: was she also able to get into _other_ parts of the ship?

The second option had to do with Clerval himself. _I wouldn’t worry about him_ wasn’t the sort of thing you’d say about anyone involved in Ingolstadt Enterprised and certainly not the person responsible for building Pandemonium. So either the man wasn’t onboard at all, which was likely given that neither her nor her siblings had managed to spot him thus far, or… there wasn’t a _Viator Clerval_ at all. It would be an absurd thought if she weren’t an undercover agent but Isabelle had plenty of experience in creating people out of thin air. The Clerval family was certainly real but then so was the Ailanthus family and yet, Alexander and Isabelle Ailanthus didn’t truly exist. Both families ticked quite a few of the same boxes that made them a good cover: huge, sprawling families that were hard to keep complete track of, involved in an absurd amount of different areas, with a new member popping up and rising to prominence occasionally.

It was the least likely option, but she couldn’t shake it off. Time had proven to her time and again that intuition wasn’t something to be ignored, no matter what Alec said. There was something going on here, something that had made the Institute be surprisingly stingy with information but send them in anyway. And Clarissa Morgenstern – and her _father_ – could be involved.

Something in her grew colder, but Izzy made her smirk wider, still whispering.

“Could you take me there?”

Clary hesitated visibly, biting her bottom lip slightly – warmth again, and then cold, two different impulses tugging at her heart – and Isabelle gave her a reassuring smile.

“It’s okay if you can’t.”

At first, her only reply was a slightly furrowed brow and a focused, thinking expression, but after a few short moments, Clary slowly nodded.

“I think so. Just… not now? There are too many people walking around outside during the day.”

“Just tell me when,” a mischievous grin and an added wink for good measure made Clary flush slightly again. “Do you want my Bio ID so you can reach me?”

“Oh, sure,” the blush deepened a little, chin tucking in slightly in shyness as Isabelle gently grabbed her wrist and started tapping on the band. Once her arm was free again, Clary picked up the glass and took a sip, visibly recomposing herself.

Izzy leaned back with a smile, ready to talk about something else, something innocuous. It was very important not to pressure any asset too soon or you’d risk losing them. The fact that Clary had already agreed to show her something valuable this quickly had been entirely unexpected and she didn’t want to push any further for today. If she played her cards right, they could bond, build some trust between them, and she could get some more information in a few days. She already had the perfect topic to bring them closer.

“So, let me tell you about my brother, and you can tell me how lucky or unlucky Magnus is.”

There were still reservations in the back of her mind, worries, suspicions, the cold-warm push and pull in her heart, but for the moment she let them all drift away, let them be pushed aside by laughter, flaming red hair and golden sparks in a sea of green.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Rest assure Clary isn’t a wallflower in this, she’s just sheltered. Although, uh… not for long. 
> 
> Also, I may or may not have recently discovered that I have A Thing for the Lightwood trio falling head over heels for good, kind-hearted people. So I, ahem, updated the shipping tags again.
> 
> As always, I hope you liked the chapter and you can find me on tumblr [HERE](https://outofcertainty.tumblr.com/).


	7. Blue Stragglers

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Meetings of more than one kind and people stumbling onto things they shouldn't. The day keeps on getting worse.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter name reference: blue stragglers are stars which stay on the main sequence (the normal, hydrogen-burning phase of a star's lifetime) longer than they are expected to.
> 
> Apologies for the delay. It's the first Essays&Exams season of the semester and I'm a bit swamped.

Alec paced back and forth inside their cabin.

Isabelle had come back a while ago, barely saying a word as she sat down on one of the beds. That would have been worrying enough by its own, but now Jace was late for the debrief. Usually that wasn’t much of a problem, he was perfectly capable of taking care of himself. Everything that had happened that day was starting to catch up to him, though, making him suddenly hyperaware of every possible danger.  

The Institute sending them in with barely any pertinent information. Magnus Bane not only knowing about it, but able to identify their agents on sight, and there clearly was some history there that no one had bothered to _tell them_ about. On top of that, a mysterious woman with a DAEMON implant had fallen down from Angel knew where, was lying comatose in a room below the deck and she wasn’t even supposed to be onboard at all. None of it made any sense.

No. That wasn’t what was bothering him. It was the fact that it made sense, that it _had_ to make sense somehow, but he couldn’t see it. There were too many pieces missing to be able to put any coherent picture together. Alec had a… strong dislike… for a lot of things, but being in the dark had to be number one. The only thing worse was being _intentionally_ left in the dark and he didn’t even want to think about the Institute freezing them out like that. It was bad enough that they couldn’t reach out to them or the Clave.

A knock on the door distracted him from his thoughts. Two more followed in kick succession, and again after a second of pause. Alec relaxed and went to open the door, stepping aside so Jace could enter the cabin proper.

“Where have you been?”

“Scouting,” his brother replied, raising a brow in his direction before going to sit next to Isabelle. “Where did _you_ go?”

“Our dear brother walked off with Magnus Bane,” Isabelle replied, smiling and resting a hand on her crossed legs, seeming far too happy about it. Whatever strange mood she had been in earlier seemed to have left her – he wasn’t sure whether to be relieved or not.

Jace’s brow rose even higher. “ _Magnus Bane_?”

“This is _serious_ , Izzy. He knows about the Institute.”

Both of his siblings immediately straightened up, the previously casual mood giving way to a tense silence. Each one furrowed the same exact brow in almost the same exact manner, making him wonder for a second if _he_ usually looked like that. That thought was nothing but a distraction, however, and quickly pushed aside.

Izzy looked slightly alarmed, glancing up at the corner of the room where the surveillance bugs were. It was the first thing they disabled as soon as they arrived obviously – although disable might be the wrong word, that would be noticed, more like put on a loop and mute at convenient times – but it still wasn’t wise to mention the Institute out loud where the noise of other people wouldn’t cover their talk.

“It’s fine,” he said, flicking his wrist, making the band around it flash red for a second, FEED DISABLED popping out in bold letters. His sister relaxed a little, but only for a moment before fixing him with a sharp but curious look. “He _knew_ I’m an agent, he could tell, I don’t know how. He knows about the NEPHILIM implants too and I think… I don’t know, but I think he’s ran into the Institute before.”

Alec stopped, only now realizing he had begun pacing again, and looked at the other agents who looked equal parts wary and perplexed.

“There’s nothing like that in his file. He could be messing with you,” Jace eventually said, crossing his arms across his chest. “Maybe he’s setting you up for something. The guy’s more than capable of that, he murdered his own parents.”

“He was _implicated_ in the murder of his parents,” Izzy immediately corrected him with a pointed tone. “And later absolved.”

“Doesn’t mean he _didn’t_ do it.”

“It doesn’t mean he _did_ either.”

Alec looked between them; there was a pressure starting to build between his brows, a sure sign of a coming headache which was exactly what he didn’t need. Pinching the bridge of his nose, he took a moment to re-center himself, even as his siblings kept arguing back and forth.

“That _doesn’t matter_ ,” they both stopped, looking at him. “Listen, he made a… we have an agreement. He’s helping us figure out what’s going on here. Even if he’s playing us, he’s still an asset,” he raised his arm, biometrics band flashing. “He altered this so I can mute or switch off cameras and he said he’d talk to security about us. That’s an edge we can’t lose now.”

Jace didn’t looked entirely convinced but nodded at him, even if slowly, and Alec felt grateful for the absolute trust his siblings had in him. As much as it increased the responsibility on his shoulders, he wouldn’t trade it for anything.

“And we can- I can use my implants now without triggering any red flags. Which is why I want you two to meet him, so he can do the same to your-“ he tapped the band with one finger, eyes flickering to his sister. “He probably knows you’re an agent too, but I don’t know about Jace.”

“If he doesn’t, he will soon,” his brother said, shrugging as he stood up. Izzy did the same, silent, brow furrowed in thought. “Alright, Alec. If you trust him, we trust him. Let’s go.”

“We don’t really have a choice,” he muttered, pulling his stele out of his pocket. His thumb flicked over the small scanner on the side, making the tip glow with a soft white light, barely visible under the cabin’s lights. After rolling up his sleeve, Alec brushed the stele over his arm, sucking in a breath at the slight edge of pain as a black mark faded in, slowly at first and then sharply, all at once, glowing the same bright white as the stele for a few moments before shifting back to black.

It made his muscles burn and tingle, as if suddenly deprived of oxygen, and he shook his arm to get rid of the feeling. The NEHIPLIM implants might not cause hideous mutations or have terrible side effects for the most part, but they did have some flaws. They needed to be activated manually, for one, and once they were, they became clearly visible. Not like DAEMON implants, hidden somewhere in the brain, always active and waiting.

“Alright,” he said, straightening his posture and looking briefly at his siblings, who both nodded at him. Magnus had told him he was going back to the private health ward. The band would give him access to the labyrinth of pathways below the deck. They were ready. “Time to go.”

With his Recall Class implant ready, it took them barely any time at all to find their way to the service tunnels. It would have taken even less if they hadn’t had to go the long way around in order to avoid the heavily populated areas – why half the people on the ship decided that swimming at night was a great idea, he’d never know – and, more importantly, the people who had already met Isabelle Ailanthus and Jonathan Smith and were all too eager to keep on talking to them.

It stopped mattering once they made their way below the deck and closed the entrance behind them. Unlike the first time, it was far too dark, the lights above them remaining off. Alec guided them as best as he could, blinking when they turned around a corner and into an illuminated corridor. The lights kept going to the right, meaning that Magnus had come another way. They quickened their pace, Jace asking questions on occasion, Isabelle staying uncharacteristically quiet.

The smell only hit him a few feet away from the entrance to the ward: sharp, overwhelming and decidedly _metallic_. A quick wave with his biometrics band and long, quick strides took him inside the room and then stopped, abruptly, at the figure lying prone on the ground. She was no longer resting inside the pod, which was open, but instead crumbled against the floor, face down, limbs twisted underneath her. A short trail of blood linked her to her previous resting place, shining black and viscous under the neon blue lights.

And there, kneeling right next to her prone form, was _Magnus_. Kneeling, with his back turned to them, purple galaxies twirling slowly across the black fabric of his jacket, seeming to churn along with the sickening feeling in his stomach. His right hand was touching the side of her neck, where a large hole rested, still bleeding. Jace’s voiced echoed inside his head: _he murdered his own parents_. Vaguely, he was aware of the two other agents coming up beside him and shifting, ready for a fight, so he stepped forward before they had a change to start anything.

“ _Magnus_.”

For a moment, there was no answer. Then, Magnus slowly rose to his feet. There was still elegance and grace in his movements but it had shifted, no longer playful and casual. Purposeful, swift. _Lethal_.  Once, Alec had been assigned to a mission in the smoking jungles of Gehenna and came face to face with an unnamed creature that had almost killed him. It had been fast, strong, deadly, a predator in the most primal sense. Alec remembered the heartbeat in his ears, the instinctual fight-or-flight response overcoming his methodical training, the same way it was doing now. The creature reminded him of Magnus – or maybe Magnus reminded him of the creature – cloaked in the night sky and beautifully dangerous.

“Alexander.”

Even his voice had changed. No light banter, no sarcastic quips, no teasing, no eloquence even. It sounded almost flat, distant, and if Alec hadn’t heard him being angry before, he would have missed the underlying fury hidden beneath the calm utterance of his name. His shoulders relaxed slightly – Magnus was very angry and he had been angry before they got here. As his stomach slowly stopped churning, Alec fought down his fighting instinct, forcefully releasing a breath.

“ _Who is she_?” asked Jace, taking a step forward.

“Who are _you_?” Magnus countered, eyes narrowing dangerously.

“He’s Jace, that’s Isabelle,” Alec grabbed his brother by the arm, stopping him from going any further. “And we don’t know. We found her earlier, unresponsive. We don’t know why-“  
  
“Someone interfered with her implant,” Magnus interrupted, and all eyes snapped to him immediately. His tone softened ever so slightly as he pointed at the hologram above the medical pod. “I returned after the scan was done. Someone had interfered with her Warlock implant.”

 “But she didn’t have any wounds when he found her,” Alec argued, glancing at the figure on the ground. It was impossible for her to still be alive, he knew. There was far too much blood and the fact that Magnus had made no effort to put her back in the pod, hadn’t prioritized saving her life above talking to them like he had done earlier, told him everything he needed to know.

“If she has a DAEMON implant, someone would need physical access to interfere with it,” Isabelle said, speaking matter-of-factly as she always did when it came to science. “Without any entrance wounds, it would be impossible.”  
  
“I am well aware of the fact that it _should_ be impossible.”

His gaze snapped back to Magnus, who was staring back unflinchingly. Not a single one of them spoke, trying to process what had just been said. Izzy was right. You could remove a NEPHILIM implant easily – if painfully – since they rested in accessible areas, but to remove a DAEMON one you needed to literally, physically get inside their head. It wasn’t something that could be done _remotely_.

Except that apparently it could. Alec felt the hairs at his nape stand up, mind racing through the implications. Was it just this one implant, from this woman? Or was it all Warlock Class implants? Or even all DAEMON implants? What if-

His thoughts were interrupted by a _scream_.

All three agents turned around immediately, one foot in front of the other, hands raised in front of them, shifting their center of gravity lower. It took him a moment to identify the person standing at the entrance behind them not as a threat, but as the woman Magnus had been speaking with at the café.

 

 

* * * * *

 

 

It had been a rather long time since Magnus had dealt with such an overwhelming feeling of _dread_.

He had still been a child last time, reeling from having everything stripped away from him, alone and lost in a planet that cared too little for him and too much for his implant. The feeling had threatened to return once, when he and Clary had helped Raphael stage his corporate coup against Camille – they had too much history and he knew fully well how terrible she could be, how spiteful and vengeful – but having the backing of his friends kept it mostly at bay.

 _They_ were what it all came down to, in the end, he thought, stuck in place with momentary shock, merely watching as Clary raised a hand to her mouth, eyes wide and fixed on the body at his feet, fair skin going paler and paler. He had always had the overwhelming need to care and protect and cherish the people closest to him, even the ones that were fully capable of taking care of themselves. Perhaps as a sort of atonement for not being able to protect his own mother. Camille would call it a pathetic weakness, Clary herself would call it one of his biggest strengths.

Magnus wasn’t sure which one it was, or it if was both or neither, but it was always _there_ , hiding beneath his laisse-faire attitude and playful banter, as obvious as the triple suns of Pequot for anyone who cared enough to really look. It kept him rooted to the spot as he looked at her, remembering the first time they had met, when a younger Clary in the middle of a rebellious phase had inadvisably sneaked off to a disreputable system at the edges of the Outer Rim against her father’s wishes.  Thankfully, she had come across Magnus before anything untoward had happened. 

Despite his better judgement, Magnus hadn’t been able to stop himself from helping her. Not because of who her father was, not because of her name or her fame, but because she was a good person with a generous, empathetic soul, exactly the kind that wasn’t welcomed there. After all, Magnus knew very well what the Shadow Worlds turned hopeful, gentle beings into. He had no desire to see it happen to anyone else, if he could help it.

Her gaze finally flickered up to meet his, spurring him to move towards her, immediately grasping one of her hands.

“Biscuit.”

“Magnus?”

“I am so sorry,” this wasn’t the sort of thing he wished her to see. He hadn’t even wanted to involve Ragnor and Raphael in this and it wouldn’t be the first time either of them had dealt with dead bodies. Ragnor even knew about the Institute, although he seemed to dislike them only slightly less than Magnus himself did.

“Is she-“ Clary paused, searching his face for something, words stuttering. “Is she-“  
  
“I’m afraid so,” he squeezed her hand, bracing himself for the questions he knew were coming, for giving her whatever reassurance he could muster. Instead, Clary blinked away tears and lowered her voice to a whisper, looking back at the body.

“I barely knew her.”

Magnus froze, fingers around her hand going slack with shock for a moment and then tightening again, stronger this time. _Knew her_? She hadn’t been on the guest list, she shouldn’t even have been on the ship in the first place, he hadn’t seen her at all until she almost plunged to her death in front of them – and Clary knew her?

“You know who she is?” one of the agents – Jace, Alexander had said – asked, so abruptly and carelessly that Magnus had to stop himself from just as abruptly and carelessly pushing him against the wall with a flick of his wrist.

“I-“ Clary looked at Jace, blinking, still clearly in shock. “She… introduced herself to me on the first day. Her name was Dot,” there was a pause, during which she swallowed dryly, hands shaking. “She said she was mom’s friend.”

“Your _mother’s_ friend?” Magnus asked, unable to completely mask his skepticism. He had seen far too many people trying to get in her good graces using the most underhanded of tricks, but using her _dead mother_ had to be one of the lowest. It was beyond the pale. “Has your father ever mentioned this… Dot?”

“No,” Clary admitted, reluctantly. Before he could say anything further, she lifted her chin a little, looking at him, then around the room. “I’m not an idiot, I know she probably only-“

She stopped, abruptly, staring somewhere to his right. Magnus stepped out of the way, turning to look and finding the third agent – Isabelle, the “sister” – looking back at Clary. Neither of them spoke as he slowly looked between them, frowning slightly at the awkward, tense silence.

Clary lifted her chin a little higher then, a gesture of clear defiance, even while anger and disappointment and betrayal flashed in her eyes – a look he had only seen once or twice in the last few years, of someone who knew other people weren’t truly interested in her but still willing to be hopefully, still willing to _believe_ – and Isabelle pursed her lips, taking a single step forward in their direction, sure and wary and guilty all at once.

“Hey guys, I’m sorry for-  oh my- is that- is that _blood_?! What happened- why is everyone just standing around like-“

Magnus closed his eyes and counted to ten, resisting the urge to bind everyone in place and just keep them there, quiet and undisturbed and _far away from trouble_ until he could get to the bottom of this.

Opening his eyes, he dropped Clary’s hand and then rolled his shoulders before taking a calm breath and turning around towards the entrance, vaguely recognizing the figure standing there as one of the entertainers he had contracted for this trip, the one aimed specifically at the younger, more underground crowd.

“Don’t you people know how to _close the door_?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Props to those of you who guessed it was Dot!
> 
> Magnus is going to end up with gray hairs at the end of this. I don’t think he’d ever forgive the Institute if that happened.
> 
> If you’re feeling a bit lost, the next chapter will have a brief recap of what they know, courtesy of our blue stragglers that haven’t the foggiest idea of what’s going on.
> 
> As always, hope you enjoyed the chapter! You can find me on tumblr [HERE](https://outofcertainty.tumblr.com/).


	8. Asterism

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter name reference: in astronomy, an asterism is any pattern of stars recognized in the Earth's night sky. Although visible in the same general area of the sky, the stars are located at very different distances from Earth and at great distances from each other.
> 
> I'm terribly sorry about the wait. I'm in the last month of my degree and I managed to get sick a few days ago which is _incredibly inconvenient_. Hopefully, I'll recover soon. In the meanwhile, I'll try to update this at least once a week, yeah?

“Besides the appalling lack of manners, it also means a worrying lack of privacy.”

Electric impulses sparked out from his wrist, tiny blue arcs leaving his fingers as he snapped them once. The doors shut without any further prompting.

For a moment, no one spoke, everyone in varying states of shock, confusion and suspicion, eyeing each other as if the murderer was hiding amongst them. That wouldn’t do. As much as he wished that every single incident leading to them standing around right now would have been avoided, they had to deal with their current situation and do it fast, which required cooperation. And, as reluctant as he was to admit, a certain degree of openness.

“ _Enough_.”

Every single pair of eyes in the room turned to him, slightly taken aback. He pointed at each of them, two at a time, and then laces his fingers together in front of him, elbows pointing outwards. After waiting another moment to make sure he had their undivided attention, he began speaking:

“My name is Magnus Bane. The Pandemonium is my ship,” here he paused, turning to the agents. “And Viator Clerval is merely a delightful figure of my imagination, as are Alexander and Isabelle Ailanthus,” he eyed them for a second before continuing. “And… Jace.  Your cover here is just as… creative… I imagine?”

“Jonathan Smith.”

“Wait,” asked Clary, frowning suspiciously. “Cover? Then who _are_ you people?”

“Agents of the Institute, my dear.”

All three of which immediately directed alarmed glances his way. He imagined that Alexander had told them some of the things they had discussed, but openly admitting to the existence of the Institute to normal galactic citizens was something else altogether. The blond agent in particular seemed very cross, taking a couple of steps towards him, so Magnus held out a hand, blue sparks flaring again for a moment – a hazy field of pale blue curled around his legs, forcing him to stop.

“We will have none of that,” Magnus ignored the glare thrown his way and turned to Alexander, focusing entirely on him. “I trust you to handle your people. Trust me to handle mine.”

The two other agents immediately looked at Alec, quietly cementing him as the leader, at least on this mission. It was something he had suspected as soon as they stepped inside the room – their formation had been obviously enough, really – but it was always nice to know he had guessed correctly.

Alec pursed his lips, clearly displeased, but nodded. “Fine.”

“Alec,” Jace said and Magnus rolled his eyes, stuck somewhere between admiration for his ability to always speak his mind and annoyance at the constant interruption. “I don’t trust him.”

“I know, Jace, but just…” at no point had Alexander turned to look at his fellow agent, even now he kept staring at Magnus, intense but surprisingly hard to read. “Just trust _me_. Alright?”

That seemed to mollify Jace somewhat. Magnus let the moment go with a single raised brow, filling the information away in a corner of his mind. Not that agents from the Institute trusting each other was unexpected, not with the almost-worship they held for authority, but this was different. A rare kind of trust even in more civilized worlds, the kind one holds close to their chest. How very interesting indeed, but there were too many pressing matters that required their attention to dwell too much on that thought.

“The… Institute? Is that like, one of the other bands here?”

As if suddenly remembering the presence of their late arrival, everyone turned to look at him, standing by the door still. Magnus gently led Clary next to him, so that he could face them both.

“Biscuit. And you… Simon Lewis, yes?”

“Yeah- yes. But you can just call me Simon. Or Lewis. Or- or anything you want, really,” he shifted from one foot to the other, nodding quickly, gaze flickering in the direction of the dead body before stopping and flinching away.  It was a nervous wreck of a sight that Magnus instinctively softened his posture and his voice. Stumbling across such a graphic scene wasn’t something he wished on anyone.

“The Institute is an organization of… individuals… interested in protecting peace and order throughout the galaxy. They are highly trained and highly secretive.”

“Oh, like secret agents?” Simon asked, lighting up immediately at the mention, as if momentarily forgetting the situation they found themselves in.

Clary glanced at him, amused by his quip, but then turned to Magnus: “Who do they work for? The galactic government?”  
  
“Not… as such,” Magnus replied, gesturing with a few fingers towards the agents. “Officially, they don’t exist. Mostly, they work for themselves.”

“For themselves?” Clary asked, one brow rising sharply. “Then who keeps them accountable?”  
  
“We do,” Jace replied, still a little surly, no doubt due to having to expose their existence. And not being able to move. Magnus should really let him go. He should. Any moment now.

“The Institute keeps itself accountable,” Alec explained, using the same exact tone of voice that he imagined all agents used when speaking of themselves and their higher cause. The same exact tone that he remembered hearing, back when he had been a child.

Clary turned to Alec, raising her brow even higher in such clear, skeptical disbelief that Magnus had to resist the urge to hug her:

“You keep _yourselves_ accountable?”  
  
“That never works,” Simon agreed with a nod, jumping back a little as all the attention focused on him again. “You know like, whenever it happens in movies some agents inevitable turn evil or- like turns against the agency- and then the entire thing shuts down and-“  
  
“This isn’t a movie,” Jace replied, moving his arms as if to walk forward only to remember that he was _still_ stuck in place. Unable to move, he glanced down at the energy keeping his legs there before glaring at Magnus who was only too happy to ignore him entirely.

“None of this matters,” Alec said, taking a couple of steps so that he stood in the middle of all of them.

“We have a mission to do here and we’re going to do it,” he nodded towards the body on the floor. “Magnus, she wasn’t on the guest list, right?”  
  
“No,” he confirmed. “She shouldn’t have been onboard at all.”  
  
“How did she get in?” asked Isabelle, brow raised. “The biometrics scans should have identified her.”  
  
“That is an excellent idea, one we should find an answer to.”

“How are we going to do that?” asked Simon.

There was a second of silence as Magnus considered him, then Clary, then the three agents. Leaving them in the dark would be entirely irresponsible given the grave circumstances, but that certainly didn’t mean he wanted them any more involved in this than they already were. Magnus had grown up in the Shadow Worlds, he had seen all manner of things and knew how to defend himself. The agents had been trained by the Institute, so they could at least hold their own. But Clary, as strong as he truly believed she was, had very little in the way of formal training and Simon was a _musician_.

“ _We_? You misunderstand. I cannot in good conscience-“

“Magnus,” Clary said, interrupting him. She took a step closer, her eyes meeting his head-on even as she grabbed his hand. He furrowed a brow and waited for her to speak. “I understand, but we’re- _I’m_ not going anywhere.”

“Clary-“  
  
“You just said someone messed with her- with Dot’s DAEMON implant,” she insisted, squeezing his hand, equal parts stubborn and pleading. Magnus pursed his lips.

“What if-“ there was a moment of hesitation but then she continued, probably assuming that they had all guessed what she was about to say due to his little displays with the door and Jace. “What if they can do the same to _you_?”

He had considered the possibility, of course. It was, in fact, the first thing that popped to mind the second he read the results of the complete scan. But the most important question had followed right after: what if the culprit could do that do everyone who had the same type of implant? It would mean the possible death of his friends, the possible death of at least seven people that he knew of and that was only on Pandemonium.

They couldn’t let whoever was responsible escape and cause even more death. There was no guarantee that they were acting alone, of course, they could be part of a bigger group which would complicate everything even further, but that was information they could get after capturing whoever was responsible.

“I know,” he replied, keeping his voice steady. “I am well-aware of the possible risks. But biscuit, the people aboard this ship are _my_ responsibility. Safeguarding them rests on _my_ shoulders.”

It wasn’t really a matter of his reputation anymore – although he’d certainly mourn that too, later, if things took a turn for the worst – and she smiled up at him like she knew, squeezing his hand again.

“I know. But I’m going to help you and you know how stubborn I am.”

Stubborn seemed too weak a word for what exactly Clarissa Morgenstern was. She _had_ decided that sneaking off to the Shadow Worlds despite her father’s wishes was worth it, after all. Magnus knew very well that she would do what she thought was best with or without his help. At least if he agreed, he could keep an eye on her… or make sure that someone would.

Slowly, Magnus nodded, lips quirking up slightly as her smile widened just a little.

“Count me in?” it sounded more like a question than a statement but Simon didn’t flinch at the attention this time, just sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. “I don’t- okay, I don’t know any of you- oh except you Mr. Bane, it was cool of you to sign us- but… I can’t… I mean, a woman just- we have to do something. Right? If more people with implants can…”

“Indeed,” Magnus said, looking at the agents who had stayed surprisingly quiet during the entire exchange. “Speaking of which… her implant is gone.”

It took a moment for his statement to sink in.

“Gone?” asked Isabelle, immediately heading towards the body and kneeling, touching Dot with purposeful movements that spoke of knowledge and practice.

“What do you mean _gone_?” asked Jace.

“Precisely what I said, gone,” replied Magnus, distractedly snapping his finger to finally release him, even as he walked over to Isabelle.

“The only entrance wound is on her neck,” she said, eyes narrowed. “There are slight punctures around it. Almost as if…”  
  
“Some manner of device was attached to her,” finished Magnus, having guessed something similar earlier.

“Then this wasn’t just a murder,” said Alec, stepping towards Dot too.

“Might still be,” countered Jace. “If whoever did this didn’t want anyone figuring out what they did with her implant, it’d make sense to steal it.”

“ _Steal it_?” asked Simon, looking somewhere between resolute and halfway to a panic attack as he gestured frantically towards the body. “It’s an _implant_! No one can just ‘steal it’! And how would they even- why not throw the body overboard?”

“Gravity and containment shields,” Alec replied, frowning slightly. “If they had thrown her out there, the body would clash against them and stay there.”

“Hide it somewhere then! You can’t- I mean they have access to this place so why not- I don’t know, stick her somewhere else?”

_That_ was a rather good question, Magnus had to admit. Whoever had killed Dot hadn’t set off any alarms. If Magnus hadn’t gone to check on the finished scan, he wouldn’t have known about her death at all. They had had plenty of time to hide the body – not doing so was either pure carelessness or done on purpose, and he would be more than willing to bet on the latter.

Not turning the murder public and making a scene meant that they were trying to keep this quiet, but leaving her here to be found meant that they were simultaneously trying to make a statement. To _Magnus_ , most likely.  His stomach churned uneasily at the thought. Dot’s death taking place on _his_ ship was worrying enough, but this kind of play implicated him directly. What was it? A warning, a threat? A sign of things to come?

The most sensible thing to do would be to stop their voyage and evacuate Pandemonium immediately. It was incredibly tempting to make that call, but doing so could put everyone in even more danger. Firstly, because they were a few days away from a sensible port. Secondly, because he had no idea how the perpetrators would react to their presence being known by everyone else on the ship. It _could_ force them to hide… or it could trigger a massacre. There was no way of telling, not until he knew who they were and what they were capable of.

The other were still arguing back and forth and Magnus took advantage to assess them. Three Institute agents with their respective NEPHILIM-type implants, trained and willing to fight, unaware if whoever was behind this could affect them like they had Dot. It was unlikely, but it couldn’t be ruled out either. Himself, with his Warlock class implant, probably vulnerable, but knowing the ship better than anyone. One guest, one performer, both completely untrained and in over their heads. Six people in total.

“Right then,” Magnus said, clasping his hands together to gather everyone’s attention again. “While this is no doubt a fascinating discussion, I feel like we can all agree that we need more information.”

“No shit,” Jace deadpanned, but didn’t proceed with whatever he had been about to add, stopping when Alec raised a hand.

“What are you proposing?”

“A couple of things. First, we should arm ourselves as best as we can. There are a few places where we can do so – I’ll have to alter your security clearances to give you access.”

“Could they have access to it as well?” asked Isabelle, standing up.

Magnus paused before answering.

“Normally I would say no, but seeing as they had access to this place… I can’t guarantee it. That is something we can certainly find out, however, if we access the ship’s system logs.”

“Then we should hurry,” Jace suggested, stopped again by Alec’s raised brow.

“Plan _first_ , Jace. We have no idea what’s waiting for us.”

“Okay, weapons and logs,” said Clary, seemingly calm for someone who had never wielded anything sharper than a pen in her life. She wasn’t, of course, the slight dip to her jaw gave her away, but now was hardly the place to call her out on it. “What next?”

“We should speak with my Chief of Security, Luke Garroway. He hasn’t contacted me about any unusual occurrences which means they’re being discreet, but we should still check for any discrepancies. He’s a retired detective and his knowledge and skills will be _very_ useful. I would rather you didn’t antagonize him.”

“We won’t,” Alec promptly replied. “But he might not have much.”

“Indeed, which is why I will be speaking with some of my own sources. I would rather not involve them in this, but things being as they are….”

“Get we-weapons, talk to security and then your friends,” Simon shrugged, trying to appear nonchalant despite his constant, nervous shifting from one foot to the other. “How hard can it be?”

“Doing it like that will take too long,” Alec protested, brow furrowing. “We should split up, cover more ground.”

“I agree. On one condition,” Magnus pointed at Clary and then Simon. “You two are not going alone. Or together. It is far too dangerous, neither of you have any training.”

Clary squared her shoulders, chin lifting in a sign of defiance, making him let out a small sigh.

“You let me help you out with Camille.”

“This isn’t a _political game_ , petal. Camille does enjoy _ruining_ people, but she does not _kill_ them.”

She kept staring at him, lips pressed together, but didn’t reply. Magnus reined in another sigh and decided that he’d take silence over arguing. He really did love her dearly but sometimes her stubborn streak tested his patience. Often, he couldn’t decide if it was admirable or just plain foolish – although that was what Ragnor said of _Magnu_ s, too. The thought of his friend swiftly brought him back to the matter at hand.

“There are six of us, enough of three groups. Alexander, I assume you’re representing the Institute if needed?” He waited until Alec nodded to proceed. “Then you best come with me.”

“Which- which means that _you_ ,” Simon pointed at Isabelle, then at Jace, then back at her again. “Get to come with us. Right?”

“It means we’re stuck babysitting, yeah,” Jace muttered.

Isabelle took a step forward. Clary looked at her immediately but remained silent, shoulders tensing.

“I’ll go with you,” a slight hesitation. “If…that’s alright.”

No one spoke. The two women stared at each other, almost unblinkingly. Silence stretched between them, growing more and more suffocating with every second that passed by without an answer. Simon took a step, arm already rising as if to make some sort of comment to alleviate the mood, but a sharp look from Jace made him step back to his previous position.

It wasn’t difficult to guess what had happened, Magnus thought, using his implant to gently and carefully pick up Dot, slowly carrying her to one of the beds. Isabelle had made contact with Clary, and tried to become “friends” – rather, they needed an asset inside the ship, and Clarissa Morgenstern had a good chance of being one.

Despite all the hard lessons life had thrown her way, she always seemed to have a hard time closing herself off when people seemed genuine. Hope, perhaps. Or naiveté. Whichever one it was, it was clear that it had caused her to be misled again.

Jace had seemingly come to a similar conclusion as he stepped between them, hands raised in a pacifying gesture:

“It’s fine, Izzy. I can-“

“No,” Clary interrupted him, still staring straight at Isabelle. “It’s fine. She can come with me.”

He briefly entertained the notions of arguing, but promptly dismissed it. Alexander had been all too right – they were wasting time. Swiftly, he started making the rounds between all of them, altering their security clearances, scanners, alarms, information and anything that could get them into trouble.

“If that is all settled, then. Clary, Isabelle, you should go speak with Luke. I’ll contact him, he’ll be expecting you. Jace, Simon, the weapons and any information you can acquire from the systems logs. All of you have access to almost every single part of this ship… and you can use your implants without any repercussions.”

Clary blinked a few times, before looking around quizzically: “Implants?”

“Not the ones you’ve heard about,” Isabelle replied firmly, making Clary furrow a brow.

“There’s no time for explanations,” Jace said, already storming towards the door.

Despite the needless dramatics – which was something, coming from him – Magnus found himself agreeing. Still, he snapped his fingers, making the agent freeze in place yet again, struggling for merely a moment before twisting around to glare at him.

“Come along, pretty boy.”

Swift strides took him across and out the room and Magnus didn’t need to look back to be aware of the confusion caused by his words. For a moment, his footsteps were the only low sound in the service pathways – but then another set of footsteps came closer, hurrying. A smirk tugged at the corner of his mouth as Alexander fully caught up to him.

“Who are we speaking to first?”

“An old friend of mine,” Magnus replied, snapping his fingers to finally release Jace, all the way back in the private ward. “Ragnor Fell.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And this is where our heroes stop having an easy time. It just gets more complicated from here out.
> 
> Hope you enjoyed and as usual, you can find me on tumblr [HERE](https://outofcertainty.tumblr.com/). Oh and on twitter [HERE](https://twitter.com/gotmeguilty/) now, too.


	9. Phototransmutation

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter name reference: Phototransmutation is a nuclear process in which an atomic nucleus absorbs a high-energy gamma ray, enters an excited state, and immediately decays. (I swear the name is relevant to the chapter, even if it doesn't seem like it!)
> 
> I'm really sorry about the delay on this one! The explanation is [here](https://outofcertainty.tumblr.com/post/161885197088/update-on-stellar-winds), if you're curious. Updates should be regular from now on!
> 
> Please forgive me if my writing seems a little rusty, it's been a month.

In retrospect, Alec shouldn’t have been surprised at how easy it was for Magnus to pass by undetected. It was his ship, after all. He seemed to know it like the back of his own hand and have access to every last square foot of space, so the fact that they managed to completely avoid the – no doubt bustling, gossiping and slightly tipsy – mess of high socialites enjoying the nightlife on Pandemonium shouldn’t have surprised him. Yet, it had.

It was Magnus’ doing. There was no other way to describe him – there was, there was a word for it, for the split second where his eyes shone so brightly that the background faded away entirely, for the way his fingers moved, genuine confidence hiding the hint, the shadow of something beautiful and lethal in his gestures, for the way Alec’s breath couldn’t make its way past his throat when that earring twirled and bounced slightly against his throat, dazzling white against burnt umber, the moon shining through autumn leaves – other than _eye-catching_. Assuming that they would be noticed whenever they went naturally followed that observation.

It was a different kind of attention than Alec was used to, born out of something other than hierarchical authority. Respect? Fear? Awe, maybe, although he didn’t think that the other passengers on the ship had been privy to watching him use his Warlock class implant. Whatever it was, it was something he could respect. And, for the time being, it was something he could trust, too. If he was being honest with himself, it was the _only_ thing he could trust at that moment. Not trusting a Downworlder wasn’t new, but not trusting the Institute or the Clave…  they probably had their reasons for keeping important intelligence to themselves, but it didn’t sit right with him. It could jeopardize his team, it could jeopardize the mission – which was exactly what he should focus on. Letting out a slow breath, Alec forced every other thought to the back of his mind.

“This Ragnor. Do you trust him?” he asked, voice low although not quite a whisper, glancing this way and that as they came out of the hidden pathways and onto an area of the ship he recognized as holding the fanciest quarters. The quietness of it all made him wary, tense, even if he knew that most people were busy on the lower floors, doing whatever it was that they did for fun.

“I do,” Magnus replied, easily and confidently. He didn’t wait for Alec, he didn’t look around to make sure they weren’t being seen, just quickly walked to the right with an air of confidence that somehow managed to calm the wariness at the back of his mind. “We have been friends for years. He knows about your… employer.”

The revelation should have made him pause, should have made him doubt Magnus’ words once again, should have convinced him that Jace was right in saying the man was messing with him. But Alec, to his own surprise, did not stumble or pause or even react in any way other than a surge of mild apprehension at the thought of one more person knowing.

“Alexander,” Magnus said, slowing down enough to pause as they turned another corner, voice surprisingly gentle, as if reassuring him. “I know this is unsettling but… more people know about you than you were led to believe. I admit I am not sure why they kept you in the dark, but-“

He cut himself off, rather abruptly. His tone was the same that he had used earlier, to try and comfort Clarissa Morgenstern and calm that musician’s panic as they stumbled onto the gory, horrific scene they were clearly unprepared for. Alec furrowed a brow slightly, staring at Magnus for a moment, but nothing else was forthcoming. He pressed his lips together before answering.

“Let’s just… focus on what we have to do, alright?”

To his credit, Magnus merely nodded at him before starting to walk again. He followed, glancing around, thankful that he had the presence of mind to keep his Recall Class implant active even after they left the private health ward. It meant he could make his way back alone if needed, without having to rely on Magnus for guidance.

Unlike the floors that housed his own cabin, the doors here were spaced out far and wide, no doubt due to how big the rooms clearly were. Each one had a name above it, not the letters and numbers that identified the other cabins. They weren’t the names of the occupants either, Alec realized as they passed another set of sparkling letters, this one with a hologram of white, feathery wings behind it. _Pegasus_. Where had he heard that name before?

Something flickered across his mind, a vague recollection of days spent in Idris’ archives reading about lost planets and old worlds – old Earth – in-between practice sessions, but the memory didn’t have time to materialize fully before Magnus stopped, making him stop in turn.

They stood in front of another door. Like the ones they had passed before, it was overly large and overly tall, dark enough to seem black rather than dark blue, with flickering lights spread throughout. Stars across the night sky – Alec didn’t need to be an artist to understand the design. He squinted at it for a moment. Did the brightest stars seem different than the ones on the other doors or was he imagining it? No, he couldn’t have been, his implant was still active, the recent memory crystal clear in his mind. Briefly, he glanced at the name on display above the door. _Libra_.

Magnus tapped briefly at his biometric bracelet before pressing on one of the stars, one on the left and roughly halfway up the door.

“Ragnor? It’s Magnus. I’m afraid this is urgent, please open the door.”

There was something different in his tone, not quite pleading, but a clear request for help. Magnus did say they had been friends for years, so him reaching out so clearly shouldn’t be surprising. Hearing it so plainly, though, was… uncomfortable. Downworlders were all about deals and cutthroat business and “skirting the law”, as Izzy had put it earlier, not about trust. That much, Alec knew.

They stared at the closed door for a moment. He shouldn’t dwell on it. They needed the help of this Ragnor Fell, they needed to focus on the mission, they couldn’t afford distractions. And yet, just like every other time that he found himself around Magnus Bane, he couldn’t keep distracting thoughts from edging their way into his mind, not since Magnus had asked him, quite clearly, why the Institute would send agents to the ship.

The question made him uncomfortable. Seeing the Downworlder in something close to a panic at the sight of the unconscious Dot made him uncomfortable. Learning about Viator Clerval’s non-existence, about other people knowing about the Institute made him uncomfortable. Things that he should have known, that Izzy and Jace should have known, that the Institute _must_ know. Just like the Institute knew, just like they had told him, time and again, that Downworlders were all about deals and cutthroat business and “skirting the law”, as Izzy had put it earlier, not about trust.

That much… Alec _had_ known.

The door opened, abruptly, dark blue fading away to a soft light as a head of curly hair popped out and a pair of glaring, disgruntled eyes squinted directly at Magnus.

“What do you want? Did you get into trouble again so soo-“ the man stopped, staring at Alec, grumpy frown giving way to an entirely blank expression.

No one spoke for a long, awkward moment. Then, Magnus reached out a hand, placing it on Alec’s upper arm. The heat of his skin and the contrasting coldness of the rings could be felt through the fabric of his shirt, just like the previous day, on the deck down below. The thought almost startled him. The _previous_ day? It felt much longer than that.

“Ragnor, this is Alec. We need to speak with you about something ur-“  
  
“Have you gone _mad_ , Magnus?!”

The loud, furious question echoed around the hallway. Alec raised a brow sharply, shoulders tensing, back straightening slightly at the tone. The last thing they needed was to call attention to themselves. It wasn’t his call to make, he knew, but a quick look at Magnus – clearly taken aback, eyes slightly wide, lips slightly parted in astonishment – made him reply anyway.

“No, he hasn’t. Look, we just need to-“

A sudden yank at the front of his shirt cut him off. His center of balance shifted abruptly but years of practice had him immediately compensating for it, torso leaning back even as his right leg strikes forward to brace against most of the impact.  Magnus stumbled past him, still entirely off-balance, and Alec leaned to the right, raising his arm to stop him from falling over. It wasn’t the smoothest of maneuvers, and Magnus could have done without Alec’s elbow digging into his chest, but it worked.

The door closed behind them just as easily as it had opened, but he paid it little mind, focusing instead on righting himself up properly before helping Magnus – fingers digging into the smooth, black material of his jacket, the twinkling arms of a galaxy peeking between his fingers, physically feeling the slight jerk that accompanied Magnus’ pain-strained cough as they righted themselves up.

“Sorry,” Alec offered, fingers loosening their grip slightly.

“That’s-“ Magnus cleared his throat, still sounding slightly winded, but the corners of his mouth twitched up. “That’s… quite alright. Thank you. I admit I did not design this floor with the intent to fall on it.”

Alec glanced down at the rich, dark wood, somewhat amused by the comment. It wouldn’t be nearly as painful as some of the falls he had to deal with as an agent – jumping from a sufficiently high enough ledge would make anything you land on feel like titanium, even a bunch of feathers, but the high use of entirely metallic structures throughout the galaxy certainly didn’t help – but it would still be rather painful. At least the training rooms back at the Institute were designed to brace their fall.

“It doesn’t look very comfortable, no.”

“Sacrifices to be made, Alexander,” Magnus replied, rolling his shoulder slightly, easy as anything, and no longer sounding winded.

Alec raised a brow.

“In the name of what?”

“Interior design, my dear,” came the answer, along with a pat on his hand.

The hand that was _still_ holding Magnus – he realized, abruptly, that he had yet to let him go, and so he let his hands fall, taking one step away for good measure, which didn’t prove to be necessary as Magnus himself took one step away from him and towards his… friend. Who was now pacing furiously back and forth while muttering under his breath.

Alec watched him, brow still raised. He was agitated, that much was clear, if not from the tone of his voice then by the abrupt gestures he kept making while talking to himself. Or was it to them? He glanced at Magnus, watching his shoulders tense up beneath the jacket and one of his brows furrowing slightly in confusion.

“Ragnor, that was rather uncalled for. I know you can be quite short-tempered when you’re hangover, but surely-“

“This is not the time for jokes, Magnus!” The man – Ragnor – interrupted, clearly in a foul mood.

Swiftly, he made his way between the two of them. The long coat he was wearing swished around his boots, hanging lower on the right side as it sat haphazardly and crooked on his shoulders. His shirt seemed slightly twisted as well and Alec briefly looked around in search of some kind of drink that would explain the frantic behavior, but found none.

“You,” Ragnor said, scowling at Magnus and then pointing at Alec, not even bothering to look at the latter. “ _Him_.”

Alec stared at the finger aimed at him for a second, then met Magnus’ gaze for a moment, hopeful that he’d have some sort of an answer – but no, if anything, Magnus seemed even more confused than before, brow furrowing a little deeper.

“Have you two… met each other?”

“No,” replied Alec.

“Hah!” shouted Ragnor at the same time, jerking his finger in Alec’s direction with enough anger that it made him reflexively take a step back. “Met? Met?! As if I would need to meet him to know who he is! Not only have you brought an agent of the Institute into my private quarters-“

Resisting the urge to sigh, Alec pressed his lips together again, fighting against the urge to clench his jaw. It hadn’t come as a surprise this time, Magnus did say that Ragnor knew about the Institute. He briefly wished otherwise, if only because it didn’t seem like cooperation was on the cards right now. Still, it wasn’t his business, it would be best to let Magnus handle his friend, and with that thought, Alec made to take another step back-

“But a son of prominent Clave members as well!”

And froze. His eyes kept staring ahead but for a moment, he saw nothing. Then, abruptly, he looked sharply at Ragnor, hand moving behind his back to grab his stele. Knowing about the Institute was one thing, but knowing about the _Clave_? That was impossible, it should be impossible, for anyone but especially for _Downworlders_.

Alec shifted his stance, felt the floor firmly underneath his feet, moved his center of gravity forward ever-so-slightly. If he moved fast enough, he could deactivate his Recall class implant and activate one of the others – Strength? Agility? – in a few seconds. His breath shortened a little, adrenaline and readiness burning under his skin. He didn’t know if Ragnor had some sort of implant, but with the element of surprise, Alec could still subdue him, and Magnus-

 _Scoffed_.

 “The _Clave_?” if the skepticism hadn’t been clear enough from his tone, it would be from the way he crossed both arms over his chest and the sharp raise of his brow. “Come now, Ragnor. You’re far too old to fall for stories that the Institute likes to spread to make themselves _seem_ all-powerful.”

“And you’re far too young to dismiss something out of hand just because it seems implausible to you, Magnus.”

“ _Implausible_?” Magnus took a step forward, waving one of his hands around, the other gripping the opposite elbow. “Ragnor, you dressing yourself in something that isn’t from two centuries ago is _implausible_. The mere idea of the Clave is absurd-”

“Listen to me-“ Ragnor tried to interrupt, taking one step closer to Magnus too, so that they were facing each other head-on. “The Clave is _very_ real.”

“You cannot be serious. You’re telling me that there’s this… this _cabal_ of people secretly manipulating everything-“

His chest burned. Slowly, measuredly, Alec released the breath he had been holding. His gaze flickered between the two men arguing in front of him. His stele, still hidden behind his back, felt cold against the now warm skin of his palm. How did Ragnor know? How did Magnus – no, Magnus clearly didn’t believe in the Clave, but he had _heard_ of it. Who else knew? Other Downworlders? It was possible that one, or both of them, had been approached by the Clave. Unlikely, but possible. The Clave never gave out its name, however, precisely to avoid anyone knowing about them as an organized, collective force.

Taking advantage of the still on-going argument, Alec moved one arm behind his back and swiftly deactivated the Recall implant. The Deflect class implant was the easiest to activate in terms of access, but the Agility one wasn’t too hard either, and it would probably be his best bet if he had to take on both of them at the same time.

“You _do_ know whose son he is, don’t you, Magnus?”

And, just like that, Alec froze again, fingers curling around the edge of his shirt, eyes fixating on Magnus who was staring back at him. His gaze flickered frantically to his eyes, the corners of his mouth, the line of his jaw, the shape of his brow, _anything_ to get a read on him, but there was nothing. Magnus just stared back, blank, before looking at Ragnor instead. His voice was strained when he replied:

“I can hazard a guess, but it doesn’t matter. Listen to me, old friend, someone just _died_ on my ship. Someone with a Warlock class implant. I need _his_ help to find out who was responsible. And I need yours, too.”

A tense silence followed but It was swiftly broken by Ragnor scoffing and walking away from them, muttering to himself again.

“Will you help us?”

“Of course I’ll help _you_ ,” Ragnor replied, waving an arm around, even if he kept walking in the direction of a desk resting against the far wall, several displays flickering on top of it. “You stupid boy.”

Alec simply watched him go, heartbeat stuck in his throat, adrenaline still prickling under his skin, fingers curling so tightly around his stele that it was starting to hurt. Bits and pieces of the argument kept repeating themselves in his mind. The Institute. The Clave. His _parents_ , possibly. He knew very well what he _could_ do at this moment, but what _should_ he do?

He could attack them, take one or even both of them down if he was lucky – and then what? Question them? _Interrogate_ them? Even if he could get to the bottom of how, exactly, they knew all of that, how was he going to keep them quiet afterwards? The only way to make sure was to kill them, but what would happen to the mission? He needed Magnus’ help, probably Ragnor’s, too. What was he meant to prioritize, here? The Clave, the Institute, the mission?

Gripping the stele even tighter, he looked at Magnus, expecting to see that blank look back on his face, perhaps even anger, mouth twisted in a scowl or lips pursed together in a way that made it clear that he wasn’t happy about any of this.

Except that Magnus wasn’t looking at him at all. Instead, he was staring after Ragnor, eyes narrowed, a sharp glint behind them that took Alec several moments to identify. It wasn’t anger or fury or even irritation. It was wariness. It was suspicion. It was _distrust_. And then, after a moment, when he finally glanced at Alec, it shifted into something else. _Concern_.

Alexander Lightwood knew fully well why the Institute made him the leader on most missions. He knew fully well why they expected him to act as Head of the Institute when the real one wasn’t present. His siblings were both incredible agents, as good as he was if not better, but they weren’t reliable in the way that the Institute needed them to be. Jace acted too much on his feelings, Izzy was too swayed by her intuition. Alec used his head. He always had, ever since they were young. He was the rational one, the one who followed the rules and regulations, even when it was difficult. He was the one who thought things through.

But, in that moment, he wasn’t thinking anything. It was nothing more than a gut feeling, nothing more than instinct that made him lift his shirt slightly and activate his Agility class implant. Magnus’ eyes flickered down, watched the tell-tale marks of it spill throughout his skin, but his only reaction was to nod. He waited until Alec was finished with straightening his shirt before looking at Ragnor who now on the other side of the room, standing in front of the displays with his back still turned to them.

Alec waited another second and when Magnus took a step forward, he followed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As usual, if you'd like to talk about Shadowhunters, catch me on tumblr [HERE](https://outofcertainty.tumblr.com/) and on twitter [HERE](https://twitter.com/gotmeguilty/).


	10. Phototransmutation II

Ragnor paced back and forth, mumbling under his breath as he tapped at the surface of the desk. The displays mounted on the wall changed as he did - letters and numbers and patterns that Alec had never seen before and had no idea how to make sense out of.

He paused for a moment, reaching a hand out and wiggling his fingers. There was a spark, green rather than the more familiar blue, and a glass practically flew into his hand; some sort of drink, incredibly dark with swirling yellow pinpricks, sloshed over the rim of the glass and stained his shirt, although it didn’t seem to bother Ragnor who started pacing and muttering again immediately.

Rather than surprise or shock, Alec just felt a surge of mild irritation. Great. Was there _anyone_ aboard this ship that _didn’t_ have a Warlock implant? A quick glance revealed that Ragnor, too, had a cuff curling around his ear.

_Of course he did._

It wasn’t unexpected, given his friendship with Magnus Bane, but it did make the mission even more complicated than it already was, and he found himself both irritated and tired of how this entire thing was turning out. There were far too many questions and not enough answers.

Alec discretely placed the stele back in its pocket - always on the inside of his clothes, made as to not be noticeable and to keep out of the way when they had to move. While it could be passed off as some sort of input device in a pinch, he’d rather not show it to anyone. Steles were old instruments, they _looked_ old, and that was enough to pick most people’s curiosity.

In front of them, Ragnor kept pacing, allowing him more time to think. Maybe it was for the best that he couldn’t reach the Institute while on Pandemonium since he didn’t know what was going on. Or what he would even say - confusion rested just below irritation on the list of things he’d rather not be feeling right now.

Out of the corner of his eye, Alec noticed Magnus clasping his hands and easing his expression into something more casual, less… distrusting.

“The victim wasn’t on the guest list,” he said, speaking in a measured tone. “I have little idea as to how she got in.”

“Where did you find her?”

“Below the decks, on the service pathways. I was fashionably late for dinner, as always, and she-”

Magnus cut himself off momentarily. Everything he had been explaining was a lie - they didn’t find her below the decks, they found her falling, and Magnus had been having a drink with Clarissa Morgenstern before that - and yet, his faltering and the way he swallowed seemed genuine. It reminded Alec of his reaction to seeing Dot fall, of how sincere his distress had seemed.

“She was just… sitting there, Ragnor. At first, I thought it might be some of the service staff that was feeling unwell, but when I approached, she…”

Another pause in which Alec had to resist the urge to glance over at Magnus. He had never heard him sound like that, like he had to slowly gather his thoughts before every single sentence. The quick-fire wit he’d come to expect, sometimes provocative, sometimes dismissive, seemed to fade away with each new word.

A few seconds passed in silence. Alec stayed still, waiting for Magnus to continue, but when he spoke again, his words were so quiet and low, so terribly _brittle_ , that Alec couldn’t help looking his way in surprise.

His shoulders were set, his jaw tense and tilted up slightly as if in defiance, but his lips were pressed together and his eyes were wide with something that Alec couldn’t place but which made him look away abruptly.

“I moved her coat aside and there was blood on her shirt and it reminded me of…”

Magnus stopped speaking again but this time, it didn’t seem like he had any intentions of continuing. Ragnor paused in his pacing, looking over at them. After a moment, he came forward to place a hand on Magnus’ shoulder, squeezing tightly and speaking in a low, reassuring tone.

“Calm down, old friend. We have seen terrible things in the Shadow Worlds, you and I, but now is not the time to dwell on them. We’ll avenge her, whoever she was, I _promise_ you.”

At the edge of his field of vision, Magnus shifted, lowering his head. Alec stepped away from them and moved towards the desk and the displays under the guise of giving them some privacy. His fingers twitched, a nervousness spreading under his skin that he quickly tried to suppress.

His gaze locked onto the words scrolling past one of the screens in an attempt to distract himself, to keep the look in Magnus’ eyes and the hint of _something_ \- something he didn’t want to examine too closely - in his voice far away from his thoughts.

If that was an act, if that was a lie like the rest of the explanation had been, then Alec had to give it to Jace. His brother often said that Downworlders were the best actors in the galaxy, not counting the people of Faria.

The words in front of him turned out to be a terrible distraction. They weren’t in any language he had ever come across, so they made little sense to him. Alec directed his gaze elsewhere, still mindful of the other two occupants of the room talking lowly to each other.

Unsurprisingly from what little he had seen of Ragnor Fell, the table was a mess. Resting on it were several portable displays, some on and some off. Half a dozen forgotten mugs of something sat precariously close to the edges of the table, a few buttons were scattered across the surface - none of which matched the others - and two crumpled shirts were stacked against the wall.

One of the mugs was stuffed with what looked like cubes. Gelatinous cubes, at that, and Alec wasn’t going to touch them if he could avoid it. Another one was filled with styluses and pens and other input devices. Most of them were elegantly designed, black and made out of some synthetic material with minerals for flourishes. One was a deep green and another one was, funnily enough, a bright, _sparkly_ purple _._ Briefly, he wondered if Magnus had given him that one just because it seemed like something he would do.

Alec paused at the thought. _Did_ it seem like something that _Magnus Bane_ would do? If someone had asked him that two days ago, he’d have scoffed at them.

He made to look at the displays again, in the vain hope that they’d start making sense to him, when one of the styluses caught his eye. It was the one at the back, behind all the others, and it took him a few seconds to figure out why it had caught his attention.

It was silver rather than black, but the main reason was that it looked… heavier, somehow. It didn’t seem like the kind of thing someone would write with. Alec narrowed his eyes and shifted closer, trying to take a better look. If he didn’t know any better, he’d say it almost looked like-

“Alexander?”

He turned around just in time to see Ragnor stepping up to him, clearly suspicious. Alec stared back, trying for what Izzy had dubbed his I-don’t-approve-of-this-mission face, and hoping that Ragnor would chalk it up to an agent of the Institute mistrusting two Downworlders he had been forced to work with. 

“And _you_ ,” Ragnor asked, poking him in the chest roughly with a finger. “How do you fit into this? Why are you here?”

The question wasn’t unexpected, but he’d been counting on Magnus handling most of talking, since Ragnor Fell was his friend.  He couldn’t look at his - accomplice? Partner? - at _Magnus_ without drawing suspicion, however, and he needed a quick answer. Something that they could both work with and remember easily.

Nothing.

Absolutely _nothing_ was coming to him.

It was a sharp reminder of why he _didn’t do undercover work_. He wasn’t good at distracting people or diverting conversations like Jace, he wasn’t good at understanding human beings or nudging them in certain directions like Izzy, and his failings had never been more obvious to him than right now, when he needed to say something plausible to a Downworlder whose help he desperately needed but _couldn’t_.

Still nothing.

For a moment, his mind was blank, empty except for a sense of rising panic. What had Izzy said about lying? She had tried to help him improve his covert intelligence skills countless times. A lie has to sound natural, she told him, which didn’t help because somehow everyone always knew when he was lying. His sister had tried to help with that, too, telling him that the best lies were the ones that were closest to the truth, because they were easier to remember and more believable, but that didn’t help either.

At least, it hadn’t back then.

_Something close to the truth?_

Ragnor’s eyes narrowed and Alec could tell that he had been quiet for too long, had taken too long to answer. He pressed his lips together and let out an irritated sigh, glancing at Magnus in clear annoyance before turning his attention back to Ragnor.

“I followed him. The Institute sent me in to find out what was going on here. I found out that there were several Downworlders on board, including Magnus Bane, so I-”

“So you assumed that we were responsible for whatever’s happening,” Ragnor interrupted, waving a hand and rolling his eyes.

“You’re _Downworlder_ s.”

“And thus, responsible for all the evil in the galaxy according to the Clave, yes, yes, I had _almost_ forgotten that.”

Alec said nothing. Ragnor stared at him for another moment before huffing, then hunching his shoulders and walking to the displays. He stepped aside and let him pass without a word, making sure Ragnor couldn't see before glancing at Magnus, who was staring back with an undecipherable expression on his face.

“Then why are you _helping_ him? I doubt the Clave, or your _parents_ , would approve.”

The mention of his parents was enough to make him tense up, but Alec forced himself to think of an answer, quicker than last time.

 _I’m not_ , was at the tip of his tongue. _I’m not helping him, I don’t trust him, I’m keeping an eye on him, I’m making sure he’s not the one behind this, I’m making sure he doesn’t hurt anyone._ That's what Alec almost said. Almost.

People could always tell when he was lying. He couldn’t risk it.

“Because Magnus wasn’t responsible for her death. He’s innocent and he wants to find the culprit just as much as I do.”

It was only after he said it out loud that the words seemed to wash over him and sink in, a realization that he had been trying to avoid all day finally snapping into place. Somewhere in the back of his mind, Alec was surprised that it didn’t settle around his throat like he thought it would, that it didn’t set off some sort of crisis, but most of his attention was focused on forcing himself to stare at Ragnor.

Ragnor, who slowly turned around to look at him again. Alec met his gaze head on and kept staring. He didn’t flinch or look away, didn’t so much as let his fingers twitch. For all that he talked about keeping the law, for all that he lectured Jace on following the rules, for all that he insisted with Izzy on following the correct procedures, Alec knew that, sometimes, he was just like his siblings.

There was one thing that they all shared, the Lightwoods, and it had nothing to do with talent or fighting prowess or lineage: _determination_. Determination not to do what had to be done, as Alec so often convinced himself, even argued for, but to do the _right_ thing. Even if, no, especially _when_ it went against the rules and procedures.

He didn’t know what was going on with the Institute or the Clave. He didn’t know why some Downworlders seemed to know about them. He didn’t know if any of them were behind this, he didn’t know what was expected of him in these circumstances, he didn’t even know what he _thought_ about all of it.

What he did know was this: something was going on, someone had been murdered, and Alec had a duty to find the truth. What he did _believe_ was this: Magnus Bane was innocent and his reaction to Dot’s death and outrage at his guests being in danger was genuine.

For now, that was enough, and so Alec did the one thing that was guaranteed to always get him into trouble, on the few occasions where that happened.

He stood his ground.

At first, Ragnor only stared back at him, eyes no longer narrowed in suspicion, the lines of his face easing off, going slack in surprise - and then, for a moment, just for a moment, his lips curled back slightly, something dark and ugly twisting his features slightly before he schooled his expression into something more neutral.

That was fine. The man didn’t have to like him, he probably didn’t like any agents of the Institute or anyone connected with the Clave on principle, just like Magnus. As long as they could still work together to get this done, Alec was fine with it.

“Alexander,” a hand curled around his upper arm and he glanced to the right to see Magnus looking back at him, having stepped closer at some point. If he was disturbed by their confrontation or surprised by Alec’s sudden honesty, he didn’t show it. In fact, he looked like they had just been discussing drinks, limbs loose and relaxed. His casual nonchalance made Alec feel a little better, a little less lost and irritated, because at least one of them was handling this well.

The fingers around his arm squeezed for a moment and Magnus offered him a small smile - it looked like courtesy, like he was returning it, had Alec himself been smiling? - before moving to stand next to Ragnor.

“I don’t know who she was, but she had a Warlock class implant.”

“ _Had_?” Ragnor asked immediately, raising one brow.

“It was taken.”

Magnus raised a hand and tapped on the displays - a combination of gestures and patterns, some sort of rhythm, some sort of design traced on the surface. His biometrics bracelet lit up and what looked like blueprints suddenly covered the entirety of the screens. They quickly shifted and zoomed in, showing the many, _many_ service pathways below the decks of the ship.

There were hundreds of them, crossing each other, zig-zagging, converging and diverging at regular intervals. There were vertical, dotted lines scattered throughout, and it took Alec a moment to realize that they were little service elevators, or maybe transporters.

He tried to commit as much as he could of the map to memory, despite knowing it wouldn’t be nearly enough. If his Recall class implant was still active, this wouldn’t be an issue, but he wasn’t going to risk deactivating the Agility one right now. Magnus was assuming that that one was active, might even be counting on it, if he knew what it did. It was possible and Alec didn't want to risk it.

Ragnor shifted through the things on his desk, muttering to himself again. A few of the portable displays were tossed over his shoulder unceremoniously, one of them forcing Alec to duck out of the way or get hit on the head. They were made out of a very thin, light and flexible material, so they didn’t make much noise as they landed on the floor.

Alec glanced briefly at one that had landed near him. It was mostly text, with two drawings that he quickly recognized as stars surrounded by arrows and small numbers. There was a single note that clearly didn’t belong to the original text on the right side, but otherwise it was simply a page out of a book. A discreet look at the second closest display revealed something similar.

He wouldn’t have pegged Ragnor, or any Downworlder, as a big reader, but he’d clearly been wrong.

“You don’t look surprised, old friend,” Magnus said, raising a brow.

Rather than answering, Ragnor swished the liquid in his glass around, staring at it. After a moment, he downed the rest of his drink before banishing it away with a tired sigh and a snap of his fingers.

“It seems to me, Magnus,” he finally answered. “That the Shadow Worlds followed us here.”

There was a small pause. Magnus furrowed a brow.

“What do you mean?”

“Think, boy. There can only be one reason as to why someone took her implant. The very same reason the rich and powerful come to the Shadow Worlds in the first place.”

“There are better ways to get a DAEMON implant than _that_ , Ragnor. Surely it would be quicker to go there?”

“Perhaps they couldn’t afford it. Or they didn’t want their visit traced back to them.”

“But they’d be willing to commit _murder_ for it? That’s…”

Alec glanced between the two of them, paying attention despite not feeling the need to contribute to the conversation. Ragnor’s reasoning didn’t seem right to him, but Magnus was doing a good job of pointing that out. There was little Alec could say, he didn’t know nearly as much as they did about the Shadow Worlds, and interrupting might risk making Ragnor even more annoyed with him.

Said man was leaning back against the desk, arms crossed over his chest, somehow looking even more ruffled than when they first stepped inside the room. One of the empty mugs had been shoved even further to the side, nearly about to fall over. Thankfully not the one with the gelatinous cubes. Most of the others on that end of the table had been shoved back too, including the one with all the styluses.

Alec glanced over it, then at the displays above the desk - and then at the styluses-filled mug again. A vast array of black handles, with a deep green one and a sparkly purple one mixed in. He looked over them again, just to make sure that it hadn’t been shoved back in such a way that it couldn’t be seen anymore, but no. It really wasn’t there.

The silver handle that had caught his attention a few minutes ago, the one that had reminded him of his stele, wasn’t there anymore.


	11. Phototransmutation III

Alec looked at the displays again, just to avoid staring at Ragnor.

The map was still there, but he barely even took notice of it, too distracted by the surge of apprehension and adrenaline that ran down his spine and the effort to keep himself from tensing up, from the dozens of questions that swirled through his mind, leaving him feeling a little wrong-footed.

 _Was_ it a stele? It might have been something else. It might have been a trick of the light, maybe, but Alec didn’t truly believe that. No, there had been far too many coincidences in the last couple of days for him to dismiss this.

He had seen it and now it wasn’t there anymore. The only person that could have moved it was Ragnor, as he was the only one that had messed with the objects resting on the desk. The same Ragnor that knew too much about the Institute and the Clave. It made sense.

But how did he even manage to get his hands on one? They weren’t exactly easy to come by. All steles were guarded zealously, given out only to people who had proven themselves to their cause and were willing to take on fieldwork. Without them, no agent could activate their NEPHILIM-type implants, no matter how hard they tried. And no agent would up their own stele either - not _willingly_.

It could have been stolen from an agent sent to the Shadow Worlds. It could have been taken by force. But if either were the case, the agent would have reported it immediately to the Institute. They couldn’t have a single piece of the ancient NEPHILIM technology fall into the wrong hands, and the Clave couldn’t imagine worst hands than those of the Downworlders.

But he’d probably have heard about it if that happened. Or… maybe not. They were hiding things from him - from them, and he briefly wondered how his siblings were doing - or, at least, they weren’t being entirely forthcoming with information. They could have kept this a secret, especially to keep a scandal from breaking out.

The agent could also have ended up dead, unable to report much of anything. His fingers twitched, itching to grab hold of his own stele, whether to make sure it was there or to spring into action he wasn’t sure. Neither was a good idea. Alec exhaled slowly, trying to pass it off as an irritated sigh, then forced himself to pay close attention to the conversation again.

“And it wouldn’t work, Ragnor. You know that just as well as I do!”

“ _Do_ I, old friend?”

He had missed something.

Alec looked between the two Downworlders again, trying to judge how well their discussion was going. No one looked angry or even annoyed, which was good, but the way they stared at each other was surprisingly tense. When Magnus spoke again, he did it slowly, as if trying to parse something out:

“You… have seen someone’s Warlock implant taken out, put into someone else and… _work_?”

_What?_

Alec looked sharply at Ragnor.

“I have.”

“ _When_? I’ve heard of… attempts, of course, but I’ve never heard of it _working_.”

Neither had Alec. As far as he knew, once any DAEMON implant was up and running, they created such a strong symbiotic relationship with all of their hosts’ systems - side effects, defects and all - that they wouldn’t work with anyone else.

He didn’t even want to think how rampant murder would be on the Shadow Worlds if they could steal each others’ implants like that. By all accounts, it was bad enough as it was.

Ragnor sighed and shook his head, leaning against the edge of the desk, arms still crossed over his chest.

“Magnus. What do you think happened to Elias?”

Alec didn’t look away from Ragnor, but he was keenly aware of the stunned silence that ensued and of how Magnus took a couple of seconds to reply.

“Elias? You… you _know_ what happened to him? And you didn’t think to _tell me_?”

“I didn’t want to burden you with such things,” Ragnor said, gentle and quiet, leaning forward to clasp Magnus on the shoulder again. “He was one of the first. There have been others. Whoever is behind it has clearly come here.”

“W _hy_? Why here, of all places? Why on my ship?”

The languid movement of sparkling galaxy arms spreading across the back and shoulders of Magnus’ jacket could still be seen even as the fabric scrunched up slightly under Ragnor’s squeezing fingers.

“It must be personal. How many other Downworlders are taking part in this trip?”

“Not many.”

“Then finding the culprit won’t be difficult,” Ragnor said, confidently. “Come, tell me about them. We _will_ find out the truth.”

It took him a moment, but Magnus nodded. After taking a deep breath, he gestured towards the center of the room, where a couple of couches rested, where they could presumably all sit down.

Alec couldn’t hope to identify the material they were made from, or how the simulated moonlight sailing across it fit in with the rest of the room, but he did notice that they were far away from the windows to avoid having an audience, assuming people could even see inside in the first place.

Magnus watched Ragnor go for a moment, head bent forward slightly - and then turned to look at _him_ , gaze dark and angry, jaw tensing as he raised his fingers. Alec inhaled sharply before nodding.

A single snap and sparks surged around his hand, orange flickering yellow at the edges rather than the blue he’d come to expect, quickly expanding into loops that twisted into each other, fading in parts and flaring in others.

Alec watched for only a second as it moved towards a still-unsuspecting Ragnor before following, making sure to stay behind it. The skin over his stomach burned slightly and spread below to his nerve endings, something between a shock and a shiver,  but he barely noticed in the wake of his long strides, of his body reacting faster than it should be possible and the quickening of his thoughts.

There was a bright yellow flare as the sparks came into contact with Ragnor’s shoulder, hue shifting abruptly to bathe everything in red as the Downworlder was thrown forward haphazardly with a cry of surprise,  crashing against the nearest couch, barely managing to break his fall with both hands.

Before he could right himself or understand what had happened, Alec was standing right behind him, grabbing his shoulder, ducking to avoid an elbow sent his way in instinctive panic, and shoving him down onto the couch. Ragnor grabbed blindly at his arm to stay upright but he pulled it away abruptly, kicking one of his feet to the side to disturb his feeble balance, forcing him to crash down.

Blue bands of light sparkled into existence and quickly locked around Ragnor’s limbs, keeping him in place - neck, arms, legs, feet, even his fingers were forced down and wide apart to keep him from using his implant. His chest heaved up and down as he looked from one of them to the other and back again.

Alec ignored the look and stepped aside to let Magnus take the lead, keeping a wary watch over Ragnor from where he now stood. With every step closer, Magnus looked angrier, a dark shadow falling over his face even as he straightened his shoulders and raised his chin. There was no friendliness in the gesture, no familiarity, nothing but fury in his stance and suspicion in his gaze.

Ragnor smiled, crooked and sardonic.

“Is this what it’s come to, my friend? Siding with the Institute, with the Clave you don’t even believe in, over your dearest and oldest friends?”

“No, of course not,” Magnus replied curtly, distantly. His fingertips touched briefly together before he waved one hand in a dismissive gesture. “I might be willing to work with Alexander, but there are very few people in the galaxy that I would trust more than Ragnor.”

“Then why are you doing this?” Ragnor’s eyes flickered to Alec for a moment, lip curling back just like it had earlier, but this time staying that way. “Why are you siding with _him_?”

“It’s very simple, _old friend_ ,” Magnus said, leaning forward so he could look straight at the other Downworlder, hands resting on his thighs. “ _You are not Ragnor Fell_.”

Alec forced himself to keep watching rather than glance at Magnus in surprise. He’d suspected something was wrong as soon as he had seen him stare after Ragnor - apparently not Ragnor - in suspicion. Not that he _truly_ knew how Magnus acted around his old friends, but he had seen several glimpses of it in how he had handled Morgenstern and that babbling musician, even in how he had acted towards Dot.

But he’d be lying if he had he had expected _this_. A guest pretending to be someone they’re not wouldn’t surprise him - that was what Alec was technically supposed to be doing - but actually _impersonating_ someone? That was much more difficult. It wasn’t just the physical aspect, although apparently they had gotten that right, as Magnus hadn’t been immediately tipped off.

Alec looked over not-Ragnor, eyes lingering on the cuff around his ear. He had assumed it was to hide the mutation resulting from his implant earlier, but could it actually be used to disguise _all_ of him? He didn’t think so, yet, no other explanation came to mind. He didn’t know of any DAEMON implant that would allow its host to do this.

His thoughts were interrupted by a low chuckle. Not-Ragnor’s eyes were fixed on Magnus, hard and unyielding and with an unsettling maniacal edge that grew brighter by the second. The chuckles grew louder and louder until he was shaking with laughter, head thrown back almost violently, but it stopped just as abruptly as it began.

“So you did figure it out,” not-Ragnor said, drawling almost lazily. “That’s a shame. It wasn’t part of the plan, but we’ll still make it work.”

“You… really don’t understand your current situation, do you? Perhaps we need to make it clearer.”

Alec eyed him warily, trepidation crawling up his neck as Magnus frowned at not-Ragnor. Something was wrong. They had missed something. He was talking with far too much confidence for someone who was at their mercy.

There was no chuckling this time, but his smile stretched even wider and Alec watched with confusion and a sickening kind of fascination as the veins under his skin became noticeable suddenly, pulsing and throbbing, darkening to a deep blue and green and grey that started just below his jaw and spread alarmingly quick.

“ _You’re_ the one who doesn’t understand, _Downworlder_ , but you’ll burn, just like the rest of them!”

The loud sound of buzzing static filled the room; Alec barely had time to notice the cracks appearing in the blue bindings before they snapped off with a piercing screech. Without thinking about it, he reached sideways, grabbed onto Magnus’ arm and pulled him back just as not-Ragnor sprang to his feet.

One flickering hand sent a wave of green, lashing heat in their direction, while the other one _physically picked up the couch_ and hurled it at them. Alec felt his skin burning again as his Agility  implant kicked into high drive, allowing him to shove a disbelieving Magnus out of the way - not quite, not entirely, but the shock was enough to snap him out it, to make him raise some sort of barrier on instinct - before diving out of the way himself.

His left leg took the burnt of his weight as he landed on the side of his foot, shifting his center of balance once to land, and again to launch himself at not-Ragnor. His first punch landed squarely on an open palm that closed around it immediately in a viciously strong grip that made him cry out as the pain shot up through his arm.

He refused to look away even as his jaw locked from the pain. The eyes staring back at him were manically wide, the skin around them steadily swelling, switching from vein-blue to a bruising purple; his lips were pulled back into a snarl. Not-Ragnor looked behind himself suddenly, free hand rising to stop orange lashes of light from reaching him, making them bounce off pale green, see-through circles.

Alec took advantage of the momentary distraction and stepped closer, hooking one foot behind not-Ragnor’s and tugging it forward, driving an elbow downward onto his face even as he did it. The grip around his hand slackened, allowing him to pull it free, grinding his teeth against the lacerating pain burning up his arm.

There was another attempt to grab him, but Alec deftly moved out of the way, his Agility implant giving him an edge, allowing him to stay out of reach. For a split-second they stared at each other, and then the impostor curled his now free hand around a quickly-materializing weapon, something that looked like a whip made out of razor sharp smoke, dark gray with flashing purple, like the darkening of his veins.

It lashed out at him, a flash of purple energy like an electrical arc, and Alec leaned back to avoid it, back arching until both of his palms pressed against the ground, allowing him to push off of it, flipping back onto his feet. The whip followed him, but he stayed one step ahead, moving _just_ before it could touch him.

One movement always lead to another, shifting his center of gravity as needed, with an ease born out of years of practice. It wasn’t the most elegant fighting style, but it was what he needed it to be - sharp, precise and unrelenting.

His body reacted quickly due to his implant - his mind too, jumping from one question to another. The type of strength not-Ragnor was using against them wasn’t possible with his implant. A few of the others gave their users enhanced strength, yes - the Nightchild, the Lycan - but never the Warlock-class. How was he _doing_ this? What in the Angel’s name was he using to fight them, what was pushing his body and mind to the limit?

The green, concentric shields span around them, occasionally moving abruptly to clash against orange lashes and blue spheres. He caught a glimpse of Magnus furiously moving around, but they didn’t seem any weaker no matter what angle the attacks came from. Alec knew he could keep dodging for a while, but they still needed to find a way to take him down.

As he swerved his torso out of the way of the whip, a few sparks arched off of it, almost brushing against his face, the searing heat of them lingering even after they dispersed into thin air. Alec didn’t allow himself to think about the damage they could do on impact, just kept moving, ducking to roll out of the way, diving under the lashing, dark grey smoke, feeling his hands and then his shoulders press against the floor before he was back on his feet again.

“Alexander!”  
  
Something was gliding through the air towards him. It was too quick for him to make out precisely what it was, but Magnus’ voice didn’t sound alarmed, just urgent, and so Alec moved to grab it. Later, he would be thankful for the many, many hours he had spent practicing and sparring with his siblings, for making him able to guess at a plan with only a shout of his name, for making him able to instinctively tell when a weapon was being thrown his way.

His fingers curled tightly around the metal. It seemed smooth and cool to his touch, flaring outward at both the top and the bottom. A quick glance confirmed his suspicion: he was clutching a grip of a sword. It wasn’t like the ones the Institute kept locked down, the ones that only responded to NEPHILIM implant hosts, and it wasn’t his preferred weapon, but it was _a_ weapon and he knew how to use it.

A triple tap near the guard made the blade flare to life. In the next second he was moving again, cyan cutting through dark grey and flashing purple again and again, only for the whip to remake itself moments later. Not-Ragnor started moving towards him, and the frazzled, hectic edge to his gestures was gone. In their place stood a steadfastness that made the hairs in Alec’s nape stand up.

That was the body language of someone who was used to fighting. That was the body language of someone who had been _trained_ to fight for several years. His strikes were sharp, strong, more similar to _Alec’s_ own than Magnus’, and the thought disturbed him enough that the clashing, runaway sparks came too close again - if not for his Agility implant, the searing heat would have landed on his neck.

Suddenly, a burst of orange ignited behind them, forcing him to look away momentarily. When it dimmed enough for him to be able to turn his head that way, Alec glanced ahead and froze. There was a huge wall of _fire_ moving towards them - no, not fire, but something brighter and hotter. The hues shifted and rolled in an arcade of loops, blending into each other and coming apart just as quickly, yet they seemed to move almost sluggishly.

Like staring at the surface of a star, Alec thought, unable to breathe.

A loud crack brought his attention to the green shields. They were barely holding on against the onslaught, fractures running along the edges, small pieces of them falling off and dissipating. Not-Ragnor shouted, back turned to him now and chin pressed against his chest, using both hands to make the shields pulse - strengthening them? - and stay in place.

Without thinking about it, Alec ran up to him, using the momentum to forcefully drive the cyan blade into the base of his skull.


	12. Phototransmutation IV

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh boy. Uhm. Guess who has graduated and now officially has a degree? Yay!
> 
> To celebrate, and as an apology for taking so long, have a **triple** update \0/.
> 
> So please remember to read Phototransmutation II and III before reading this one!

The green shields flickered for a moment before fading away entirely.

Without their protection, the orange wave rolled in, rushing dangerously close to them almost instantly - Alec had thought that the whip had felt searing hot but it was nothing compared to _this_ , his skin almost burning despite the lack of contact, sweat rolling down his temples and his neck and his forehead after just a moment of close proximity, making him wonder why nothing had actually caught on fire - before abruptly disappearing.

Alec stood still for a few seconds, taking deep breaths as he tried to blink the sweat out of his eyes, but startling as not-Ragnor _flickered_ in front of him. The ear cuff was still in place, surprisingly intact. Just as Alec started wondering if he had imagined it, it happened again, and then twice more in quick succession.

His clothes remained the same, he noticed, but the exposed parts of his body kept flickering, like interference in long-range comms or what happened to protective shields when the power ran out. Holding the sword was becoming harder, heavier now that the body it was plunged into grew slack, and so Alec flicked the blade off with a triple tap near the pummel and stepped back.

The body fell to the ground with an unceremonious _thump_ , landing in a crumpled heap.

Magnus stood a few feet away, one arm still outstretched, fingers frozen in a wave-like pattern. His clothing didn’t seem any worse for the wear and there were no wounds that he could see. Not-Ragnor had kept him at a distance, choosing to focus on Alec, and that… had been a mistake. The memory of the stellar flare-like projection made his skin itch, his breath quicken a little, because it had been pure energy, pure _power_ , unleashed but under control at the same time.

If that was the kind of thing Magnus Bane was capable of, then he needed to make a mental note to stop Jace from making him angry.

Alec placed the grip of the weapon in his pocket, next to his stele, before kneeling near the body which had stopped flickering by then. He rolled him over, carefully looking at the man’s features, ignoring the bulging veins and the blood running down his mouth and the back of his head. Straight dark hair, dark eyes, pale skin. Nothing extraordinary. No one he had ever seen before, as far as he could remember.

His height was similar to Ragnor Fell’s but his body composition seemed different. Sturdier, stronger. Someone trained to fight, as he had guessed earlier. Alec reached over to move the shirt out of the way, just to confirm his suspicion, but as he did so, he caught sight of something on the man’s neck. Moving his head to the side made it come into clear view and Alec’s breath escaped him in a surprised rush.

There, on the man’s skin, clear as day, something was spreading like spilled ink, red rather than the black he was used to, but there was no mistaking it - the mark of a NEPHILIM-type implant. He knew what it was.

And so did Magnus, Alec thought with a mild surge of panic, looking up sharply. His eyes stared fixedly at the body lying on the ground before moving up to meet his own. Alec tried to read him, to understand what he was feeling, what was going through his mind - he could guess and it made the knot of panic in his chest tighten, made him blurt out without thinking:

“He’s not with me!”

There was no reply.

Magnus kept staring at him, not angry, not even distant, merely blank, and for some reason that made the nervousness buzzing below his skin even worse.

“Magnus-”

Alec stopped himself and took a deep breath. Then, he shifted, both knees resting on the ground, lowering his hands to press down against it too, and stared at him in the exact same way he had done to the impostor earlier - dead-on, steadfast, with no hint of hesitation.

“Magnus, I _promise you_ he’s not with me. With us. I’ve never seen him before in my _life_.”

There was no reply.

After a moment, Magnus started moving towards him, coming closer with small, measured steps. His face was still blank, but there was no tension in the lines of his shoulders, no briskness in the way that he was walking.

He knelt on the other side of the body, inspecting not-Ragnor’s face closely for a moment. His gaze flickered up to him, then at the impostor, then back at him.  Alec stared back, unflinchingly, not even daring to blink.

And then, astonishingly, Magnus’ features _softened_.

“Alright.”

“Al… alright?” Alec blinked at him, confused even as he exhaled briefly and quietly in relief.

He’d been expecting more of a fight. Sure, they had agreed to work together. He had even decided to trust the Downworlder for the remainder of the mission, because it was the most pragmatic thing to do, but that didn’t make all his misgivings about the inhabitants of the Shadow Worlds disappear.

In the same way, he doubted that their truce meant that Magnus suddenly trusted the Institute or its agents. There was history there and Alec might not know what happened yet, but his dislike for all of them had been pretty clear, his distrust even clearer.

It seemed likely that Magnus would assume that another person with a NEPHILIM implant on board would be another agent - who else could it even be? - and thus, working with them. Someone he hadn’t been told about, and making the connection between the secrecy of it and a plot against him was only too easy.

That’s what Alec thought he’d do. That’s what Alec assumed would happen. What he hadn’t expected was for Magnus to listen, no, rather, for Magnus to _believe_ him. Alec Lightwood could admit he wasn’t the easiest person to deal with in the line of duty. He could also admit that he’d been surprised by the Downworlder more times than should be possible in such a short amount of time.

His musings were interrupted by Magnus speaking in a surprisingly tentative tone, gaze fixed on the man lying between them.

“Did you…  mean what you said, Alexander?”

“About what?”

“My innocence.”

Alec paused and thought about it.

Alec paused and thought about it and remembered Magnus’ panic as a falling Dot came crashing onto the deck, remembered Magnus’ anger at the thought that someone would endangers the guests on his ship, remembered Magnus’ gentleness in handling Morgenstern stumbling onto that gruesome scene, remembered Magnus’ worry for her safety and the musician’s too.

There was only one answer he could give if he was being honest.

“Yeah. _Yes._ ”

Silence hung between them after his answer. Alec didn’t want to break it, but he knew they had to make sense of this and reach out to the others as soon as possible. He glanced down at the body again. The bright red circle on the man’s neck wasn’t even fading, as if to taunt him.

Struck by a sudden thought, Alec reached over to take the shirt off of him as he had been doing before catching sight of the mark. Magnus made an inquisitive noise but didn’t try to stop him. Two other implant marks were revealed once the shirt was off, one that Alec recognized as a Shapeshift-class implant, the second one Strength-class.

_That_ certainly explained his unexpected strength and how he had managed to disguise himself as Ragnor Fell. Having the two implants - three, if the circle one did anything - active at once explained the exertion and strain his body had been under… and that wasn’t even counting the Warlock implant. He’d never even heard of NEPHILIM and DAEMON-type implants being able to coexist in someone.

Alec closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose, trying to think. A dead Downworlder whose implant was stolen. An impostor with both types of implants who knew about the Institute, the Clave and whatever was going on aboard the ship, who managed to disguise himself as one of Magnus Bane’s friends, who had said “ _we_ ”, which meant that there were likely more people involved.

None of which had been picked up by the security measures. If he had to guess, none of them were part of the guest list either. How did they manage to get in? Why did they even decide on doing this on the Pandemonium in the first place? It wasn’t exactly low profile, there were thousands of other locations, or even ships, where they could have acted without calling attention to themselves, whoever they were.

Alec sighed and dropped his hand, looking at Magnus who had a hooked finger pressed against his chin, clearly thinking too.

“What do you make of all this?”

“ _Uhm_ ”, Magnus replied, moving his hand away slightly to rub his fingers together. “You don’t know him, and I don’t doubt you, Alexander, but we can agree that he somehow has acquired access to NEPHILIM technology, yes?”

At his nod, Magnus continued.

“And he clearly has access to DAEMON technology as well. Normally, I’d say he managed to get his hands on it on the Shadow Worlds, but considering what happened to Dot…”

“He stole it.”

“Most likely, but I admit I don’t understand _why_.”

“Maybe it’s the only way,” Alec replied slowly. “I’ve never heard of both implants working together. Maybe- maybe if they tried to do it the normal way, one of them would reject the other?”

He might have been completely wrong, but nothing else sprang to mind. Magnus exhaled and grabbed at his own elbow with his left hand, brow rising.

“It’s as good an explanation as any, I suppose. It does mean, however, that they have been killing Downwolders. Possibly for years, if he wasn’t lying about… Elias. I wonder whose-”

Alec watched as Magnus suddenly stopped talking and swallowed, eyes going wide with fear. Between the unfinished question and his still active Agility implant, it wasn’t difficult to guess where Magnus’ thoughts had taken him.

“We don’t know if it’s from him.”

Alec raised his hand slowly and snapped his fingers to get Magnus to focus on him. Despite the fear and concern on his face, he didn’t seem to be nearing panic, which was a good. It was a real possibility, a terrifying one.

If they had been sitting there, discussing the same thing happening to Jace or Izzy, Alec didn’t think he would be nearly as put together. Likely he’d be halfway out the door already in a surge of blind, protective panic, professionalism be damned. Just thinking about it made his chest tighten.

“Hey,” he tried again, voice as gentle as he could make it. “We don’t know if they took it from your friend. Let’s try not to assume anything.”

“Even if they haven’t, he’s not _here_. They must have taken him. They could have-”

“Then we’ll _find_ him, Magnus. We’ll look for him.”

Slowly and silently, Magnus nodded at him, lips pressed together. Alec glanced at his wristwatch for a moment, but then dismissed the thought. Even if they could identify whose implant the man had stolen, it would probably take an in-depth scan, and they didn’t have time for that.

As if sensing where his gaze had landed, Magnus moved to scan the man’s hand, in a similar way he had done with Dot previously. The same exact window popped up, loading, searching, but Alec could tell neither of them were hopeful that it would find anything.

“How did you know it wasn’t him?”

Magnus took a few seconds to reply.

“There were a couple of signs. Ragnor has never called me stupid. Young, brash, foolish, yes, but never stupid,” his voice was quieter than usual, but tinted with fondness. “He would never have lied to me about Elias either. And there were… things that Ragnor would know, things from my… events that were important to me. He would have reacted another way to the… news of Dot’s death.”

Alec stared at him, unsure of how to react to his answer, or even what to make of the uncharacteristic way in which he trailed off several times while speaking. He hadn’t noticed anything odd about that part of the conversation, nothing more relevant than bringing the supposed Ragnor up to speed on what had happened, but it was clearly important to Magnus. Probably important enough that his friend, the real one, would know and would have acted differently to what was said.

His gut had told him to follow Magnus’ lead and so he did, but he hadn’t quite realized how much Magnus had prodded and poked and analyzed the man pretending to be his friend. He was struck, briefly, by the terrifying thought of how good an infiltration team Magnus and Izzy would make.

A screen flickered to life just above Magnus’ wrist, distracting him.

[MATCH NOT FOUND]

_Of course not_ , thought Alec, unsurprised but still slightly disappointed. It would be nice to have something else to go on, but they would have to make do.

“We need to tell the others about this.”

Magnus nodded, tapping away at the display with lightly bouncing fingers.

“That sounds wise. We don’t know who else they could be impersonating. We should mention the implants as well. If they’re forewarned, they might have better luck than us.”

“Seems sensible,” Alec muttered, scanning over the body lying between them again. They weren’t expecting a fight and they could never have predicted _this_ anyway, but he still felt like they could have found another, more useful way of dealing with the man.

Capture him, maybe, although that would mean keeping him locked down somewhere which could be risky. They didn’t know the extent of the man’s implants or abilities, so they couldn’t be sure whatever they came up with would hold him.

“I recognize a… Strength implant?”

“Right. Yes,” Alec replied, glancing at Magnus momentarily before carefully pointing to the marks. “That’s a Strength-class implant, that one is a Shapeshift one and…”

He trailed off, looking at the bright red brand on the man’s neck, somewhat hidden by the blood that pooled out of his mouth. Usually, the activated implants blossomed black, like ink spilling beneath their skin. He’d never seen a red one before. It was unsettling, how utterly _wrong_ it looked.

“I… don’t know what that one is. Never seen it before.”

“Oh?”

Magnus peered at him curiously, then moved the man’s head to the side very, very carefully, to take a better look, eyes narrowed.

“I’m afraid I haven’t seen anything like it before either, although that’s hardly surprising. _An agent_ not knowing about it, however…”

The implication was clear and it hung between them. Briefly, Alec wondered if the Institute or even the Clave knew about this implant, if it was just something else they were keeping from him, from them, possibly from the majority of the field agents, or if they simply didn’t know about it.

He’d have to ask, once all of this was said and done, but Alec wasn’t convinced he’d get a straight answer out of them. Now wasn’t the time to think about that, though, and so he shook his head to clear those thoughts away.

“Alright. We have to look for Ragnor, but we have no idea where he could be.”

Magnus agreed with a hum, pulling his fingers away, absentmindedly brushing them against his jacket.

“And I doubt our friend could provide us with answers given his current… predicament.”

Alec mulled over their options for a couple of minutes. They could check with security, but it was easier telling Izzy and Morgenstern to do it since they were heading that way already. Tracking Ragnor’s implant was impossible, even if he still had it, but perhaps there was something else…

Quickly, he reached down and rolled the impostor’s sleeves up, letting out a sigh at the sight of the biometrics bracelet clasped firmly around one wrist. It was taken, then, which meant that they couldn’t use it. It wasn’t a promising sign and he could see the flickers of worry edging their way to Magnus’ face again.

“We need some other way to find more information. He said _we_ , so there’s more than one person responsible for this and we know that they’re stealing implants. I think we should try and intercept them,” he waited until Magnus nodded at him before continuing. “How many other people here have Warlock-class ones?”

“As far as I know, Ragnor and I are the only ones,” there was a small pause. “But there are people with _other_ DAEMON implants.”

Alec slowly lifted his head. They stared silently at each other. He could see the exact moment in which it clicked for Magnus, barely a second after his own realization.

“And that guy asked you about _all_ Downworlders on board-”

“He could have been gathering information, in which case-”

“They can probably do it with other DAEMON implants.”

There was another pause, longer and heavier than the first as a second realization hit them both. Magnus was the one who broke the silence, voicing both their thoughts:

“He wanted a hit list.”

There was no time to lose, then.

“Come on, let’s go.”

Alec sprang to his feet, then offered his hand to a still kneeling Magnus who raised a brow at him even as he accepted it and stood up, carefully avoiding stepping in the blood pooling near his feet.

“Where to?”

“You said there were other Downworlders on board. They’re in danger. We need to get to them before someone else does.”

The fingers still clutched in his hand twitched in what he thought might be shock or surprise, even if Magnus’ face wasn’t showing it. Alec raised a brow but admitted - begrudgingly, to himself - that he couldn’t really blame him for that.

“Okay, look, I know I’ve been pretty clear about not trusting Downworlders, but-”

“My dear, Clary’s artistic talent is _‘pretty clear’_. Your distrust puts me more in mind of a stellar storm.”

Alec paused for a moment, narrowing his eyes and trying to make sense of the light-hearted remark. It was pretty obvious to him now that Magnus was trying to get their minds off of what they had just gone through - and he’d done it before, hadn’t he? - but Alec was too thankful to call attention to it, feeling some of the tension leave his shoulders.

“Dangerous?”

Magnus moved his hand away, raised both his brow slightly and leaned in.

“Immediately obvious to anyone within a few thousand light years.”

A snort escaped Alec before he had time to catch it, even as he looked away from him, first to the left and then to the right. Eventually, his gaze landed back on Magnus and he remembered what he had been about to say, doing his best to ignore the left corner of his own mouth twisting up despite his efforts.

He wasn’t smiling. He was a professional. He was a professional on a dangerous mission. He was a professional on a dangerous mission who had just killed someone in self-defense. He was a professional on a dangerous mission who had just killed someone in self-defense and who did not find Magnus Bane amusing in any way, shape or form. Right.

“Look, the law is the law. I still want everyone to answer before it, including the people from the Shadow Worlds. That means a trial - a _fair_ trial. Not murder, not maiming, not taking your implants from you. A trial.”

Magnus cocked his head to the side slightly and regarded him in a way that Alec was starting to associate with trying to make sense of him. It lasted only for a moment, though, before he let out an incredibly over-exaggerated sigh and gestured broadly with one hand, rolling his eyes.

Alec still wasn’t smiling. Really, he wasn't.

“Yes, well, I _suppose_ we can call that an improvement.”

Some of the lightness in Magnus’ movements dropped as he eyed the body near them again - his hand paused mid-air, the wrinkles at the corners of his eyes tightened a little, his brows furrowed slightly.

“I will… make sure that no one finds our friend,” he said, snapping his fingers, familiar blue sparks swirling around his hand. “There is a wardrobe on the south wall, you go change, pretty boy.”

“Change?”

For a moment, Alec didn’t understand the remark. Then, he followed Magnus’ rather pointed gaze at his chest - at the mess of singed patches, frayed and torn synthetic fibers, and clumpy, dark blots of either blood or sweat that he had been too busy with staying alive to take notice of.

He had looked a lot worse before, during other missions, but if anyone caught sight of him there would be a lot of uncomfortable questions they’d have to answer.

“Not even your handsome looks would divert from that, Alexander. You look like a fright.”

“Yeah, thanks,” Alec muttered as he turned around, quickly pinpointing what he thought must be the wardrobe and walking towards it. Belatedly, he remembered the missing stele. "I need to check him for something before we go."

“Yes yes, change first. Quickly now,” Magnus said somewhere behind him, sounding _far_ too cheerful and nonchalant for someone who was hiding the _corpse_ of their attempted murderer. “We must hurry, but do pick something nice. One can never underestimate the importance of being well-dressed, especially when confronting one’s enemies. Or worse, one's  _esteemed guests_.”

Alec quickly glanced towards the ceiling in mild amusement, ignoring the tiredness settling over him as the adrenaline started to wear off, and wondered if things were going better for the others.

By the Angel, he _really_ hoped so.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter: catching up with the girls. Also, Alec should have realized by now that no one is going to catch a break during this mission. Sorry, buddy.
> 
> As usual, if you'd like to talk about Shadowhunters, catch me on tumblr [HERE](https://outofcertainty.tumblr.com/) and on twitter [HERE](https://twitter.com/gotmeguilty/).


	13. Occultation

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter name reference: An occultation is an event that occurs when one object is hidden by another object that passes between it and the observer. The term is often used in astronomy, but can also refer to any situation in which an object in the foreground blocks from view (occults) an object in the background.
> 
> A bit of exposition about the mythos/the implants in this chapter. And have I mentioned that I'm very weak to the Lightwoods giving in to good, genuine people?

They walked in silence.

Avoiding other people while going around the ship was proving to be rather difficult. It would have been more surprising if walking with Clarissa Morgenstern _hadn’t_ attracted attention, but it still made their task more difficult than Isabelle had been hoping for.

Briefly, she entertained the notion of using the service pathways. The problem with that idea was that the network of hallways below the deck seemed to be immense and she wasn’t familiar enough with it to get them where they needed to go. The partial - and incredibly incomplete, she now realized - blueprints that the Institute had managed to dig up weren’t very helpful.

Magnus had provided them with access to almost every part of the ship, but that wouldn’t mean much if they ended up getting hopelessly lost. The most sensible option was asking Clary if she knew some way of getting around without being noticed - it was certainly plausible, after the admission that she was able to get inside the yet-to-open park during their first conversation - but something made Izzy a little reluctant to ask.

It was probably the fact that Clary had been absolutely silent since they had parted with the others. Her back was straight, her chin raised a little, her shoulders tense, just like she had looked when Isabelle had first approached her at the café. A mix of angry and defensive, it was the normal reaction to finding out you had been used by someone. Izzy couldn’t blame her for that.

Despite the hot-and-cold tug of her heart, her slight breathlessness at flaming gold, and her hope that she’d never have to actually use Clary as an asset, she had still thought of her in that way. An _asset_. She knew she had to, she knew it was part of her job, she knew it was what she had been trained to do for decades. She also knew that none of that made it _right_. Meliorn’s voice came back to her, a flash of dripping crimson stark against cracked skin flickering across her mind:

_Once you’ve hurt someone, you can’t just decide that you didn’t. You can make people_ trust _you, Isabelle Lightwood, but you can’t make them_ forgive _you._

She had stopped asking for forgiveness a long time ago. From her assets, when she had to use them or leave them, from her parents, when she inevitably did something that reflected badly on them, from the Institute, when she broke protocol, from Alec, when she went against the mission parameters he gave her in what their mother called her misguided attempts at doing the right thing.

It might be easier asking for forgiveness than permission, but _receiving_ it was another thing entirely. Building something for the first time was always easier than re-doing it after it was broken - you could never really find all the tiny splinters necessary to put it together again, not like it used to be.

“What’s your name?”

The rather abrupt question forced her attention back to Clary. They were still making their way through the lower cabins just above the deck in their search for an information kiosk. After the sixth person had come up to them, trying desperately to make small talk and invite them somewhere in an attempt to get into the Morgensterns’ good graces, they had decided to try and stick to the quietest parts of the ship.

There was a forced casualness to Clary’s tone but other than that, Izzy couldn’t pick up anything else from her or from the question. It was surprising, considering how much of an open book she had been before, practically wearing all her feelings and thoughts on her sleeve.

“Isabelle,” she replied after a moment. “My name really is Isabelle.”

“But you’re not an Ailanthus?”

“Not really, no.”

“Then who are you?”

“I can’t tell you.”

A pause.

“Because you’re an… because you’re from… you’re working for-”

Clary kept cutting herself off and rewording her question, obviously trying to get around the subject. It took Izzy barely a second to understand what she had been trying to say: _because you’re an agent from the Institute_. She seemed to have taken the secrecy surrounding their organization to heart, if she wasn’t willing to even mention them out loud. It would probably come as a relief to both Alec and Jace - and it was something Izzy could leverage, if said organization found out about Clary’s involvement and tried to “resolve” the issue.

“Yes, because of that.”

There was no reply for several moments; Clary stared ahead, seemingly thinking, and Izzy left her to it. One of the information kiosks finally came into view, standing in the center of a little roundabout area that branched off into the four cardinal directions. Rows upon rows of doors littered the hallways no matter where they looked, although at least it seemed fairly deserted.

Clary still looked deeply absorbed in her thoughts, so Izzy stepped up to the display, flashing her biometric bracelet at the scanner near her right hip. The kiosk’s interface was clean, designed to be simple but intuitive, so it took her barely any time at all to locate the map.

“Are you here to help Magnus?”

Her fingers hovered over the display. Isabelle knew the answer she w _anted_ to give, even though she couldn’t… no, even though she _shouldn’t_ , because it would land her in a galaxy of trouble. It was against protocol and procedure. It was risky. It was honest.

“Not officially… but I’m trying to.”

“Will the… will they be okay with that?”

“No. They won’t be.”

Part of her was hoping for some sort of reply to that, but when it became clear that none was forthcoming, Izzy went back to the task at hand. The map of the deck was still on display. Their position was circled in blue, the security station was circled in red and a couple of slowly pulsating arrows connected the two points, showing a few possible routes they could take.

She didn’t quite like any of them. Passing by the cafés and restaurants was out of the question, as most people there wouldn’t miss an opportunity to invite Clarissa Morgenstern to join them, which would force them to either turn down an invitation every couple of feet or be stuck in polite conversation with someone. Perhaps going by the pool would be a better option. There were a lot of people around, they might be able to quietly blend in and pass by - or they would, if Clary’s hair didn’t attract so much attention. It was a gorgeous color, whimsical and striking, but _striking_ wasn’t a good word when stealth was involved.

A hand curled around her arm, bringing her out of her thoughts. Izzy blinked and glanced at Clary who had leaned closer, using her free hand to close down the map.

“Come on,” her tone was slightly softer than Isabelle had been expecting. “I saw where it is. We’ll get there the same way we got out of the health ward.”

The fingers drifted lower, wrapping around her wrist and gently tugging her back. Izzy let herself be lead along, but couldn’t help raising a brow as they walked.

“You can access the service pathways and the unopened park, but you didn’t know where the security station is?” she asked, voice low as a precaution.

Clary shrugged, staring ahead. There was still some distance in her mannerisms but there was a hint of sheepishness too, reminding her of the conversation they had at that café, of admitting to sneaking around. Mischievousness, almost. Izzy ignored the way her heart ached a little at the memory, at wanting to see that sparkle again.

“I wasn’t planning on going there.”

Knowing where the security station was located still seemed like a sensible thing to learn regardless. Although being personal friends with Magnus Bane probably meant that Clary could go directly to him instead. Or, maybe… maybe it was that defiant, mischievous streak again. How had those two even met each other in the first place? Izzy thought about it as they walked around for a few minutes, but didn’t break the silence. She hardly had the right to ask, even if she thought she’d get an honest answer.

Clary stopped momentarily, dropping the wrist she’d been holding and looking around to make sure they were alone - Izzy’s lips twitched into a slight smile at how hard she was trying, and failing, _not_ to be obvious about it - before tapping at the biometrics bracelet.

A piece of the floor right in front of them glowed for a moment and then moved to the right. Quickly, they made their way back down below the deck. Izzy waited for the entrance to close behind them, and for Clary to turn on the blue lights running down the hallway they found themselves in, before looking around. Unfortunately, there was nothing to distinguish this area from the previous one, at least nothing that she could immediately spot.

Clary grasped her wrist again and started heading… west, if her sense of direction hadn’t been turned around. Izzy went easily, glancing down at her own biometrics bracelet for a moment, wondering if the others were doing alright. The transparent strip remained inactive and blank, save for the barely visible blue circuitry, so they likely hadn’t found anything yet.

“Tell me about the implants.”

“The implants?”

Clary was still staring resolutely ahead, even as she nodded, voice loud and firm, fingers gripping her wrist a little tighter.

The request was easy enough to understand. Magnus had mentioned modifying their bracelet so they could use their implants which Clary had been surprised by. Isabelle recalled herself clarifying that it wasn’t the implants she knew, but there had been no time for any further explanation.

Apparently, Clary had decided that that time was now. The question caught her by surprise a little, due to the assumption that their task together would be mostly spent in silence. Izzy worried at her bottom lip with her teeth for a moment, glancing at her companion. Was her curiosity bigger than her lack of trust?

Of course, she knew what she _should_ say. The fact that Magnus Bane knew about them, about the Institute and the NEPHILIM implants, was bad enough, but at least he was a Downworlder who had found out through his own means. To actively tell a normal, blissfully ignorant citizen about it was… completely against their rules and would probably end up in immediate expulsion if it ever came to light.

They kept walking steadily, quiet again. Clary didn’t seem like she was going to push and hadn’t asked anything else. Izzy looked at what she could see of her profile more closely. Raised chin, corners of her mouth pressed together slightly, one brow dipped just a little too low to be casual. Waiting for the answer. Waiting for _an_ answer, but not passively. It clearly wasn’t just to make conversation, and it didn’t seem like a simple way to kill her curiosity or get information- oh. A test.

It was a _test_.

Digging her heels in caused them both to stop walking. Clary glanced at her over one shoulder, eyes slightly wide in surprise before composing herself. Still, she held onto her wrist, even whilst they did nothing but stare at each other. Isabelle glanced away for a moment, biting lightly at her bottom lip again, and then focused on her once more.

Couldn’t, shouldn’t, wouldn’t and oh, there were so many rules against even entertaining the notion of telling anyone. So many _good_ rules, put in place for a reason. For several reasons: to ensure that they could do their jobs and whatever was required of them, to separate the normal citizens of the galaxy from the most dangerous, criminal aspects of it, to let everyone live without worry, under the illusion that they were safe. The agents of the Institute and the Clave should be the ones carrying that burden, as they had done so for centuries.

It was their duty. It was their sworn, sacred, _tired_ duty. Isabelle blinked, suddenly feeling exhausted, as if every single mission from the past five years was catching up to her. Faria I. The Forsaken Colonies. Infiltrating the Dumort Conglomerate. Every single trial at ancient Ossox. Capturing persons of interest in the underground fighting rings of Crantin XV. There was always a price to pay. There was always a personal price to pay for being professional.

But, maybe, it could be the other way around. Maybe, just this once, it could be a professional price to pay for being personal. Except this time, unlike Faria I, unlike Ossox, she could push through. Oh, Isabelle was fully aware that she would probably let everyone else down, her parents most of all - another misguided attempt at doing the right thing, her mother would say, taken too far this time - but, for once, she wouldn’t be letting _herself_ down.

What even was the point of doing all this, of her entire career, if she didn’t truly think she was doing the right thing? If she couldn’t bear to live with herself just a little more after every single mission, despite burying her feelings as deep as possible?

Clary hadn’t uttered a single word. Isabelle exhaled slowly, still staring. Innocent galactic citizen or not, she was already involved. Not telling her wouldn’t help anyone, certainly not any of them. The Institute would disagree, the Clave would probably be apoplectic, but Clary had a right to know. Especially if Isabelle’s suspicions about her father turned out to be true.

With that thought in mind, Isabelle began walking, waiting until Clary caught the memo and started leading the way again before speaking:

“Millennia ago, when mankind first started exploring outside our original solar system, one of the first ships found a very old planet. It was deserted, they couldn’t detect a single life form anywhere, but the surface was scattered with remnants of an ancient civilization.”

“ _What_?” it came out a little choked, surprised and slightly skeptical, but Izzy kept speaking regardless.

“Most of the buildings were badly damaged but… we also found their technology. At the time, it was eons ahead of anything humankind had ever made. A lot of it was unusable, but some things were still intact, especially things they had kept safe or hidden away. One of them were… implants. And once we managed to get them to work, to work on _us_ , they allowed the hosts to do things no human had been able to do before. The name we gave that ancient civilization was the Nephilim, taken from one of Earth’s old religions. That’s… the tech that the Institute still uses.”

Neither of them spoke for a long moment. It was a lot to process, so she patiently waited for Clary to say something.

“It was kept a secret?”

“Yes. Even from members of the human government. It.. we were meant to use it for good. It’s still our duty, to use their ancient tech to keep peace and order across the galaxy.”

“ _Who_ decided that?” this time the question came lightning quick, making Izzy smile just a little bit at the fiery display of defiance. Just like earlier, when Clary had asked, in clear disbelief, if they thought that the Institute would keep _itself_ accountable.

“I don’t know. It’s the way things have been for centuries.”

“But if they were that ancient…” Clary asked, slowly, clearly trying to word her question carefully. “Then the normal implants… the DAEMON ones, I mean… that means they’re much recent, right?”

Isabelle paused before answering, because she genuinely wasn’t sure. Any other agent of the Institute would immediately confirm Clary’s theory but she had her doubts. Objectively, there was no questioning that the NEPHILIM implants were older, she just wasn’t sure if humanity had been using them for longer. Different classes of DAEMON implants had been developed at different times. Warlock class ones were some of the oldest, but the Lycan and Nightchild classes were more recent.

Then, there was the Seelie class implant. The Institute had never been able to get their hands on one of those, since the people of the Faria planets were far too elusive to ever be captured. It made proving her theories about them, namely that there were two different Seelie implants - which she had dubbed Seelie I and Seelie 0 to herself - and that they were the oldest class of human-made implants, the first DAEMON-types, _very_ difficult.

Even if she did prove it, no superior would ever entertain her ideas and would most likely just dismiss them as ludicrous. At some point, their pride in being the only bearers and users of NEPHILIM technology in the galaxy had blinded them to a lot of things, inconvenient truths and their own duty most of all. As both a scientist and an agent, it never failed to bother her.

“The other people at… work… would say so, but I have my doubts,” Isabelle finally answered.

Silence fell between them once again. Clary kept glancing at her and then at random places such as the floor or the ceiling lights, as if any of it would help her make sense of things. Suddenly, she let go of her wrist, only to step closer and wrap her fingers around Izzy’s upper arm. It was a loose and tentative grip, one easy enough to shake off if she wanted to.

“ _Thank you_ ,” Clary muttered.

Isabelle stopped walking at the genuine gratitude in Clary’s voice, closing her eyes after a moment. If she was going to do this, then she was going to do it properly. There was no point in being honest if she was going to be selective about it, if she was still going to keep things to herself like she had been doing until now.

It was highly likely that Clary wouldn’t take her suspicions about Valentine Morgenstern well, but if Izzy was proven right and it came out that she had suspected something, yet chose to keep quiet about it… then the already frail trust she had just regained would be lost again. And it wouldn’t come back.

Letting out a controlled breath, Izzy opened her eyes and placed her hand on top of one of Clary’s, squeezing it as she looked straight at her.

“I need to tell you something.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We're (hopefully) meeting Luke next chapter and there are a few more twists coming so hold on! \0/
> 
> As always, if you'd like to talk about Shadowhunters, catch me on tumblr [HERE](https://outofcertainty.tumblr.com/).


End file.
